A future haunted by the past
by Darkenwood
Summary: The Second Prince Part II - The Pendragons are settling in Camelot, or are they? Is the past really dead? Sequel to "The Second Prince", as promised. Sword fight, politics, drama, passions and betrayal, its all there. Big promise!
1. All the King's horses,all the King's men

**A/N:**

**Many thanks to everyone who's put this story on the alert or favourites' list and/or has given me a review. Frankly, I've got more reviews for my A/N than I've ever got for one chapter of my actual stories.**

_**You're so great people. Please read and enjoy and - do not forget to review it.**_

**A future haunted by the past **

**1. All the King's horses and all the King's men**

Arthur turned gracefully on his heels, avoiding his opponent's determined thrust while he brought his own blade up in an attempt to hit the other's neck. The young King swore angrily under his breath when his sword was parried by the other knight, if just barely.

The blades slid off each other with a heinous sound. Arthur feigned a retreat and as his opponent came forward in pursuit, the royal side-stepped quickly and let his blade cut in a horizontal blow across the other man's stomach. The knight yelped in angry surprise and pulled back, instinctively forgetting about his strong armour, trying to protect his sensitive lower body with his blade and a side-step of his own. To slowly die with one's intestines flowing out was every sword fighter's nightmare.

With a triumphant roar, Arthur went in for the kill. A vicious kick against the already slipping feet destabilized the attacker even more and Camelot's King used his own momentum to slam the hilt of his blade against the other's sword-hand to push it aside. It was a classical move, meant to breach through an enemy's defence and aim for his heart or throat.

The two sword hilts connected forcefully; Arthur put his full weight into the clash and for the blink of an eye it was a fight of sheer strength. The outcome was inevitable though, as the other knight was unsteady on his feet while parts of his strength were caught up in a frantic attempt to regain his footing.

And yet, Sir Leon recoiled in horror when his King stumbled and fell forward, his sword glancing off the knight's blade. Once rid of the opposing weapon's resistance, Leon's sword jerked upwards until it was stopped by Arthur's throat; a spot that was, as always, the weak point of the armour.

Nausea made Leon's head spin when he saw his blade cut into the soft skin of Arthur's neck, drawing blood immediately. The horrified knight screamed for help at the top of his voice, the King's blood spilling over his hands while he tried to keep Pendragon from falling to the ground.

Little good it did Gaius that he was by the King's side in an instant; Leon was terrified out of his wits and he needed someone to vent this terror on. "Damn your eyes, where have you been you old fool?"

For once the Court Physician let it go unchallenged. He was himself scared almost witless. It had been for very good reason that either he or Merlin had always been present during Arthur's frequent 'exercises'. Well, most of the time they had, naturally by one miraculous coincidence after another, both been somewhere in the vicinity as soon as their King had as much as touched a weapon on Camelot's training ground.

"No need to yell like that. The cut isn't that bad" Gaius now said after a short examination.

"I am glad to hear it" Arthur chuckled, albeit a bit awkwardly.

Leon closed his eyes briefly. His knees were still wobbling. "With Your Majesty's permission, I'd rather call it a day" the knight said, and he knew better than anyone how shaken his King was as Arthur just agreed that it 'had been enough for one afternoon'.

"We have to bandage that, Sire" Gaius insisted. "Even a harmless wound can get infected." Sighing angrily but without resistance, the King followed his physician to the infirmary.

It took almost an hour before Gaius allowed Arthur to leave it again, and when the young King came out, his face did not bode well for anyone who came into his way.

Leon nodded, as if the sight had confirmed an earlier thought, and sneaked into the infirmary. "Gaius, please I have to know if it was my fault. My Gods, I thought I'd killed him..."

"You very nearly did" a very pale and nervous Merlin answered in Gaius' place. "I'd thought you'd know how to handle these 'training lessons'!" The warlock slammed the brush he was using to scrub the table on the wooden surface with a vengeance.

"I know that scrubbing the infirmary is no longer a part of your duties, my boy, but I'm sure ruining my furniture is neither" Gaius growled.

Again, Merlin banged the brush on the table, his face flushed with hot anger. "Fine. If that's all you care about right now, I might as well leave you two gentlemen to your discussions. Talk, talk, talk. That's all you can do!" He swept by the appalled knight and behind him the door almost came off its hinges.

"So it was my fault after all?" Leon asked, but Gaius comforted him "it was the King's own mistake. Arthur just can't stand the thought..."

That was all what Merlin heard before he was out of earshot. At top speed he made for the Queen's chambers, bursting inside without so much as thinking about a knock. He recoiled when he saw Morgana in a flimsy underskirt and nothing more; and even this almost made-of-nothing dress was only half way up her body.

"Not altogether satisfied with knowing my brother from head to toe, must you now know my naked body as well?" Morgana's voice was steel in a velvet glove. Gosh, how she loved to tease this man, it never ceased to amuse her.

"I had no idea you two had advanced to talking about nakedness" Gwen said mockingly, while she rummaged through the heap of accessories on a nearby table.

The warlock blushed and stared to the door helplessly, a sight that incited the Queen to even more mischief. "Oho ho Gwen, dear Merlin and I have advanced to many interesting things."

Guinivere laughed out loud. "I shouldn't wonder. Even Arthur comments on the amount of time you two spent together."

Merlin blushed even more and Gwen felt remorse almost instantaneously. "Not that I meant that he's averse to it. Or that you two are doing something untoward or such..."

"Some people would think our doings very untoward" Morgana stayed on her prey's hot track mercilessly.

"Yes, especially Your Majesty's sister" the warlock hissed

The one sentence wiped all amusement off Morgana's face. "I'll get dressed and then we can go. We've not much time, Arthur's scheduled a Council meeting for tonight, we all are to attend; that includes you, Gwen."

Guinivere's shoulders sank. "So I take it there's no need for me to go over my fineries" she said. "No great ball for the King of the Orkneys and the rest of the damned lot."

"No" Merlin replied. "I shouldn't think so. Rather a big battle."

Gwen shook her head despairingly. "Why can't things be easy for Camelot? Just _once_?"

"Because, while they're after the Crown for their own bloody offspring, these so called noblemen style themselves as close friends of Uther Pendragon. Since when has my dear father caused anything but trouble and unhappiness?"

For all her brazen behaviour, the Queen was taken aback by Guinivere's crestfallen looks and she hugged her former maid tightly. "Don't fret like that; it's bad for the child."

"Who gives a damn?" Gwen was all burned up in an instant. "I never wanted the darn thing anyway. Nothing good will come of it, I know it, I just know it..."

"I wait outside" Merlin said. In the corridor, he leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. He could not get rid of the thought of what Arthur would say if he knew about his wife's latest spleen. For Gwen's husband, this child was a joy and beacon of hope. For the mother, it was nothing but a burden, she had said so frequently and it was a small miracle that so far Arthur had not witnessed her outbursts.

It took Morgana a while to calm her sister-in-law. When she finally joined the warlock in the corridor, she looked strained; all her former light-heartedness vanished into thin air.

Silently the two magicians made for the stables and their favourite spot in the woods; a clearing with the ruins of an ancient hunting lodge and the last shambles of a once magnificent terrace garden.

"Shall we begin?" Merlin asked listlessly, but instead of the usual "of course, what are you waiting for?" he earned only silence.

He met Morgana's intend stare defiantly. "What?"

"You tell me" the Queen replied. "What on earth has happened to put you off our little outings?"

Merlin shrugged, his fingers played with the bridle. "Arthur's wrist broke during today's exercise."

This took some swallowing on Morgana's part "How many times is that now?" she finally asked. "Thrice in four months?"

"And it would have been even more often if the prat hadn't been that busy." Merlin's shock was still audible in his voice. "Leon couldn't stop his blade. Your brother was very nearly killed."

"I don't get it, Gaius could heal Morgause's spine, but he's clueless about treating a broken _wrist_?"

"Don't look at me for an answer, Gaius always says that I won't make a healer, not in 200 years. He also says that Morgause had suffered a clean fracture of the vertebra. It's curable. But Arthur's wrists were… crushed. The executioner brought the iron club down with such force and afterwards…." Even now, the wizard shuddered at what Gaius had told him about Osric's ritual "Arthur must have tried to break free from his bonds while he was tortured further and that didn't exactly help matters."

"So there's only so much even Gaius' magic can do about the damage and that the wrists are continuously strained and overtaxed isn't helpful either" Morgana finished the sentence for him. "Has anybody thought about enlightening my brother on that score?"

"You know him. You know how he is when he wants to ignore a fact."

"So Arthur Pendragon's days as a great warrior are over."

"Leon says that we do not have a better leader, or strategist, only if it comes to wielding the blade himself…" Merlin shrugged again, embarrassed and mortified by what he was saying, as if he was betraying his friend's trust by merely discussing the obvious. "Yes, these days are over and they won't come back."

"The plague over my father, may he find no peace in his grave" Morgana swore fiercely. "For this deed alone he should suffer in the deepest hell."

Merlin winced when he felt her magic stir and lash out at him unwittingly, roused by the anger and hatred that filled her mind. It was like a conscient being, her magic; always in tune with its mistress' state of mind and heart, and yet with a will and purpose of its own. Not a mindless tool she could use; if anything it was a servant who sometimes remembered how to make his own decisions.

And, other than the mistress, the servant had no gentle sides. As a seer, Morgana's ability strove for the dark and haunting parts of the future; as a magician, it did the same.

To distract the aggravated sorceress before she could notice her magic's misbehaviour Merlin added hastily "Speaking about not finding peace, what the hell is the matter with Gwen? I hardly recognize her. One second she's as gentle and kind as she always was, the next she flares up like a small devil."

"Merlin, our enemies are gathering an army against us, large parts of Camelot are still deeply distrustful of the Old Religion, of my sister and of me, until the next harvest is brought in we completely depend on the deliveries from the Ravenclaw and Branguard stocks and they're running low by now. Arthur is overworked and he is scared, very scared. Luckily nobody else knows, but if I can see it, she can too. Would you want to be pregnant in such dangerous times?"

"Frankly I wouldn't want to be pregnant at all, thank you very much" Merlin stated drily. "Having watched Gaius fighting disaster at difficult childbeds, I know too much about it for my liking." He waited for a small chuckle that did not come.

"I should not waste our time on describing our predicament" Morgana said instead. "After all it is why we are here, is it not."

The warlock gulped down a disgusting bout of apprehension. It was now or never. If he wanted to go on with this, he had to do so now. "Yes" he said. "I think it's time to give up on taming your magic."

Morgana bit her lower lip to hide the rare joy that sprang up inside her. Instead she did her best to look intimidated and overawed. "Do you think you can hide that from my sister? Won't she feel that big a surge of magic?"

"We won't know unless we try."

In silent unison they brought the horses back into the woods, where the animals would presumably be safe. Coming back to the clearing, Morgana took her usual position opposite the ruins and Merlin in her back. Effortlessly the witch called her magic and it rose obediently, causing Merlin to gasp when it reached his body, stirring up his own gift in the blink of an eye. As they had done many a time during the last four months, since their return to Camelot and the coronation, they harmonized their magic energy flow, channelling the raw power that was Morgana through Merlin's mind and body.

But this day was different. For the first time ever, Merlin did nothing to suppress the aggressive energy. Instead he called for it to rise even higher, to do what it had come to do, without holding back.

And the witchcraft obliged. It ran through the warlock's every vein, through every shred of his being, hilarious at having found such a vessel for its power. It was seductive, overwhelming, like fire and ice, marvellous and utterly fascinating. Merlin laughed as he raised his arms, never before had he felt such strength and might at his command. He gave himself to it, willingly and without restraint.

He never noticed when he lost his own will under the onslaught of Morgana's euphoric mind. His own magic combined with hers, they both acted as one being, incredibly happy, self-centred, thoughtless of anything but their union and how it felt. Almighty. Boundless. No limits, not of morals, not of fear, not of consideration, nothing. They could do whatever they wanted, for no other reason but that they just _could_ do it.

They both screamed with joy without knowing it and when the climax was reached, when the power engulfed them completely, Morgana let go of her power and it surged forward.

Lightning flashed through the forest, a wild tempest raced through the clearing from all sides at once, thunder crashed deafeningly and blinding rain flogged the trees and ground of what a minute ago had been a peaceful forest. All hell broke lose; pieces of the old ruins raced through the disturbed air, it sounded as if heaven itself would scream with pain and terror.

Merlin had no idea how and when it had all ended. Somehow the rapture and the all-consuming fascination went away and left him numb. Exhausted. And more than a bit bewildered. What on earth had happened here?

He looked around and was disoriented. What was this place? He was sure he'd never seen it before. All right, it was something like a clearing, surrounded by dead trees, dashed to shivers. The ground was ….. flattened. No buildings, no animals, no plants; even the soil had apparently been washed or blown off. The rocky ground looked like a body whose clothes had been ripped off by a brutal hand. Death and destruction, everywhere.

"Oh Merlin, can we do that again, please? Tomorrow, will we? Please." Morgana hugged him fiercely from behind, her body trembling with happiness and utter fulfilment, her eyes and face radiant, more beautiful than she had ever been before.

"_The darkness to your light. The hatred to your love_." The words echoed through his mind but he had trouble to grasp their meaning.

"It's all dead" he muttered instead, suddenly chilled to the bone. Awe? Disgust? Or fascination? Who could tell it apart? "Dead" he repeated. "Just like that."

"Och, it'll grow back. It always does, bad weeds grow tall." Morgana smiled happily into his face. She looked like life itself, no hair out of place, no exhaustion, no regret or second thought. "Don't you see what this means, Merlin? For you and me? For my brother? For all of Camelot?" She laughed breathlessly. "Who cares if Arthur can wield a sword? With the two of us at his side, he doesn't have to. All Albion will tremble with fear before the power of Camelot!"

"_Was that me_?" Merlin thought, barely listening to her. She was, after all, just repeating his original thoughts. "_Am I responsible_?"

"Isn't it just perfect" Morgana continued. "One Pendragon to carry the flag, one to actually fight our enemies. Like two sides of the same coin. And we have you to thank for it."

"_**Thank**__ me? For __**this**__? How can anyone be grateful for creating a desert_?" Merlin thought he'd said it. Fortunately, he had not.

Even without it, Morgana's face lost a bit of its radiant happiness and surety. "What is the matter with you?" she frowned. "Are you sick or something? It was what you wanted, wasn't it. And it was a success."

"Let's go back" Merlin replied hoarsely. "It was enough for one day."

She shrugged callously. "You know, you're a bit fragile, for all you being the warlock born of legends." Purposefully she strode towards where they had left their horses, only to jump back with a soft yelp when she reached them. Her white stallion was well enough, although scared witless. Morgana tried to calm the wretched beast; all the time avoiding the sight of Merlin's horse. The warlock's black mare was clearly dead. Her legs and neck were twisted and torn. Her mouth and eyes still showed her suffering before death had released her from agony.

"I'm sorry" the sorceress said nervously. "I have no idea how this could happen."

"It doesn't matter" Merlin replied harshly. "It was a beginner's mistake. Next time we will take better care."

"But you loved the animal. You took such pride in her." Only silently she added "_because she was Arthur's gift to you. The day we came back. The day we thought we'd already won_."

"I said it doesn't matter. We will learn to handle these things. At least we know now what you are capable of."

"I think there could be even more. Enough to blow an army off the battle field."

"Perhaps."

"It's what you wanted. Something to make my brother invincible, without a sword, without a warrior's glory and to hell with all the noble tittle-tattle and empty talk about the knight's code." Morgana raised her hand as if to slap the warlock's face. "Damn you, you bloody hypocrite, can't you just admit it?"

"You're right" Merlin yelled back. "It's what I wanted. It's what I still want. Because it is necessary. That doesn't mean I've to like it, does it."

They shared the horse for their way back, saying little or nothing at all. Until the citadel's gates came into sight. "Merlin, I wanted you to know….. whatever the consequences, I'm glad we did this. I wish I could tell you what this means to me. I'm no longer just a guest." Morgana smiled, albeit it wavered a bit. "It's what I always wanted. To really belong. To be needed. Arthur always was. Now _he_ needs _me_."

Merlin winced when she suddenly grabbed his hand painfully. "I never knew what my magic was for. It only scared me, drove me away, from Uther, from my home, even from my brother. Morgause gave me a first impression, but now I know it is my destiny to fight with it, for what is dear to me. Don't you understand?"

Spontaneously he squeezed her hand back "I understand, Morgana. Believe me: I understand all too well." He smiled ruefully. "It was the same for me. I only wish I'd told you years ago. It would have spared us all an awful lot of trouble."

It was a thought he'd often had in the past. What would've happened if he and Gaius had introduced Morgana to her magic? Would she have turned to Morgause then? One word, just one word in the right moment, and Arthur would never have seen Devil's Claw.

It was a humiliating thought. In the end it might have been his cowardice, his fear for his own life and future in Camelot, that had brought all this misery and suffering about.

"_If only I knew what is dear to you now, Morgana_" he thought wearily. "_Your brother? Camelot? Morgause and her schemes? Or just yourself?_"

And yet, through all his doubts, something nagged its way into his thinking. A small, in normal times thoroughly restrained part of his mind – or so he preferred to think - was determined to have a say in that. "_What I would give if it were me_."


	2. At sword point

**A future haunted by the past **

**2. At sword point**

"That's it then" Arthur said. "At least we've clarity now."

"I still can't believe it" Leon replied. "After all those years of friendship."

"Let me spell it out for you: They see an opportunity and grab it. End of story." Gwaine snorted scornfully. "End of loyalty and friendship, too. Remember what this oaf Tristan said? Yes? Well, there you are."

Naturally everybody present remembered the day Gwaine was referring to.

Two months after Arthur's and Morgana's coronation it could no longer be denied that they could as well have skipped the meaningless ceremony.

As Arthur had predicted, Tristan was the first of the primordial knights of Camelot who left. Very clearly the young King remembered Tristan's somewhat forced pithiness when he had resigned his commission. "To stay in your service would be against my conscience, Your Majesties. I've made an oath of allegiance to your father and I cannot honestly condone your accession to the throne."

It had been said with a lift of the chin, a defiant, in its unwitting childlikeness very moving gesture that Arthur was all too familiar with from the training grounds. "By all ancient rules and laws of the land, you both are unfit to rule and no knight with a sense of honour and duty can say otherwise!"

Tristan had visibly braced himself for anything that would come now, but in spite of his resolve he had become ghostly pale and gasped fearfully when the Queen's sizzling anger had reached his skin and mind like a red hot iron.

"Morgana, please, let me." Arthur did not know whether it was Merlin's soothing hand on her shoulder, as always miraculously just on time, or his own intervention that made his sister bite back her wrath with a will; the King was just relieved when he saw the blood return to the young knight's face.

"Let's not beat around the bush with fine speeches about conscience and high morals, Sir Tristan. You are Marke of Cornwall's nephew, your mother was a cousin to Queen Igraine and your uncle has ordered you to come home, that's all. You do not want to be used as a political pawn, but provoking us into arresting you will not wash, I'm sorry. As much as I appreciate the sentiment."

So Tristan had been honourably discharged, much to his own chagrin, but many had followed him. During the following three months old alliances had been revived, favours had been called in, friendships and family relations had been stressed to breaking point, and for a short while it had seemed that Arthur and Morgana would prevail, if barely.

Until Leodegrance, Bayard and Erec had succeeded in persuading Marke Duke of Cornwall to officially enter the stage. From his stronghold Tintagel, the old Duke had sent word to his ally Lot of Orkney. Together these noble and conscientious men had decided that Uther's disgrace must be avenged on his wayward, treacherous children, and that it was their most sacred duty to do just that.

Of course, the formal challenge they sent to Camelot said nothing about the spoils that would be theirs for the taking if Camelot were to fall into their hands; nothing about the horrible fight the good 'friends' would doubtlessly have among themselves as soon as the Pendragons had been extinguished. Instead it said much about Morgana's illegitimacy, the vile ways of the Old Religion and the fact that the Druid peasants now had a seat in Camelot's Crown Council. The pompous letter had even more to say about the burn mark on Arthur's chest and what it made him. 'A disgrace to the time-honoured Crown of Camelot' was among the more harmless phrases.

"I agree with Gwaine" the 'disgrace' now said. "No rest for the wicked."

"Let them come" Morgana replied "the sooner the better. They'll live to regret it!" She looked at Merlin, who didn't see it. He was far too preoccupied by keeping up his innocent expression, while Algernon and Gaius glared at him murderously.

"We are a trifle short of provisions for a long siege, My Lady" Leon said cautiously. "They'll cut us off from the Branguards' supplies and we're finished in a week." Needless to say that the Branguards were the last great house remaining loyal to them. With all the others leaving or plotting against the two young Pendragons, Arthur had quickly abandoned his plans to split up the Branguard fiefdoms. He couldn't afford to offend the brothers.

"What siege?" That was Lancelot's first contribution today. "They'll lay waste to the villages and settlements. By the time they get here, there'll be no Camelot to defend. A citadel alone is not a country."

That was a stone thrown into a hornet's nest and the others' reaction was accordingly. Arthur had much difficulty to restore order. Repeatedly he banged his – left – fist on the table; on the last hit the impact echoed from one wall of the room to the other thunderously; everybody ducked down instinctively and caught his breath.

"You wanted to say, Arthur?" Morgana asked innocently, while the thunder she had created faded away.

Her brother looked at her appreciatively, thinking once again that her magic was a blessing. At least sometimes. "There will be no siege and no destruction of the villages and settlements" he then said. "Our opponents know very well that a destroyed country can hardly bear the costs of war, let alone be a source of wealth in the future."

Gaius shook his head. "That's the sort of first class thinking that regrettably has hardly ever kept a conqueror at bay."

"I didn't say that they won't fight. They just won't fight Camelot's army or walls."

"And pray what will they fight instead?" Gwen's voice was cold and hard. Five months pregnant, her appearance had begun to show it. It did not soften her mood at all. She already knew the answer to her question and she didn't like it. Not one bit!

Arthur threw another document on the table, equally pompously adorned with seals and signatures and hollow presumptuous phrases, but smaller than the first. "They've sent a personal challenge. In other words, they will fight _me_."

Dumbfounded, the round fell silent for a moment. Finally Gwaine regained his voice. "That's ridiculous. We're talking Kingdoms, Crowns and thousands of gold pieces here. You do not conquer a realm in personal combat."

"They have no need to defeat Camelot. They only need to defeat _me_." Arthur insisted. "It's my claim to the throne they challenge, my entitlement to your loyalty and allegiance."

"_Our_ claim and entitlement, you wanted to say." Morgana wasn't kidding any more.

"No" her brother answered. "_Mine_. They think you're unimportant, a woman, a bastard and a witch. But believe me, as you _are_ a Pendragon woman, bastard or no, you're meant to add to the legitimacy of their claim. Before I'm cold in my grave and certainly not with your armour on, or anything else for that matter."

"It could work" Indifferent and matter-of-fact as always, Percival broke the horrified silence this brutal remark had caused. "If anything the Branguards are loyal to themselves and to the profit they want to make by supporting the Crown. Sorry Morgana, but neither they nor the brunt of the army would fight for the Queen, and surely not for the Old Religion. And we others are only a handful of people."

Morgana was as white as a sheet. Not with fear. With fury. "You're forgetting my sister" she said. "_And you're forgetting me_" she wanted to add, but Merlin kicked against her ankle and she gulped it down. The most important thing about a secret weapon was, after all, secrecy.

"With all due respect to the Lady Morgause, even if we knew where she is, if we use magic alone to defend ourselves, we can as well go packing now" Leon snapped angrily. "A bunch of sorcerers is no royal house. Not in the eyes of the people. And surely not in the eyes of the Knights of Camelot!"

"If the Knights of Camelot prefer to be uselessly slaughtered, that can surely be arranged" the Queen snapped back. There still was some unfinished business between her and those knights and, on occasions, it showed.

Arthur cut them both short. "Am I allowed to say something in this Crown Council? Last time I checked, one of these thrones was mine."

Morgana had a fitting repartee ready in no time, but the way her brother stared her down, even she thought better of it.

The King straightened his shoulders. "The good news is, they won't escape their own trap. For all the others being rank opportunists and Lot being a pompous fool, Marke and Erec are devout Christians. They style this as an 'Ordeal by battle', a judgement of their God. When I accept the challenge and defeat their fighters, there's an end to it. The coalition will break, with at least Cornwall coming back to our side, as Marke is a man of principle. With the others we can deal one by one."

"If" Gwen said. "Not _when_."

"I do beg your pardon?" Arthur was audibly at the end of his tether.

"If you defeat three opponents in sword fight in three sequential stages of the tournament you will have won the day. Was it not so?"

"Yes."

"And pray, what makes you think you stand a chance to win?"

If thoughts made sounds, the great throne room would have heard a cacophony of voices. As it was, the common embarrassment kept silent.

Arthur and his wife stared at each other. Neither of them backed down. Both of them stood firm.

One for her love and fear.

"_You once said you'd relinquish your right to the throne for me. Have you forgotten_?_ You are a great King, but Camelot doesn't want you. You fear for Morgana. What will these monsters do to our daughter?_"

The other for his pride.

"_How can you do this to me? How can you humiliate me such? You of all people_."

And for the first time ever, Arthur Pendragon chose his pride over his love for her. "Guards. Her Ladyship has to lie down. She needs to rest. _Now_!"

It was Elyan who accompanied his sister out, the disconcerted soldiers trotting behind them.

"Arthur, you are a complete as..…" Morgana started to say, but Gaius drowned her out. "I think all has been said, Sire. Geoffrey will draft the answer to the challenge in no time."

"Thank you Gaius. I would want to sign it tonight. Dismissed!"

Leon took his lead from the Court Physician, and after some shuffling of feet, surprised murmurs and angry mutterings, the room was empty.

Except for Arthur and his sister.

"What do you want, Morgana?"

"Nothing. Look at you, that's all."

"What for?"

"It's not every day one sees a man come back from the dead."

The King snorted exasperatedly. "Whatever pleases you, My Lady."

"You know, I thought you'd finally gone to hell but here you are, Uther Pendragon, life-sized, bold as brass."

She smirked when she saw that she had hit a nerve with that. "Can't you remember dear brother, how much you hated it when he did this to you. Sending you packing, having you escorted to your room like a child, just because you'd said something he didn't want to hear."

"She had no right to say that, not in public. Damn it Morgana, you know I had no choice."

"That's all the excuse you ever need. No choice. It wasn't me, it was the circumstances. You're as pathetic as our father was."

"And what about you? Rambling and yelling through a Council meeting like a fisherman's harlot. You're supposed to be a _Queen_!"

"Gwen is my friend. I care about her. You humiliated her in front of everyone."

Maybe it would have worked.

Maybe it would have made Arthur think twice about his answer.

_If_ Gaius hadn't told his Prince so much about Merlin's former adventures whilst they both had been in Devil's Claw.

As it was, Morgana's claim provoked her brother beyond endurance. "When was Guinivere your friend, eh? When Morgause and Cendred had her abducted? When you had her accused of casting love-spells on me? Or when you used her to find my hiding place in the forest? Hmh? When was she your friend?"

Neither of them thought of keeping his voice down and the corridor in front of the throne room emptied rapidly. Curiosity had killed more than just cats in Uther's time and from the look of things, his children were of the same inclination on that score.

Morgana glared at her brother but her chin was trembling. "If that is what you think of me" she finally managed to say "we could as well have stayed in Doloreux. It would never have come to this." She jerked her head back defiantly. "I've told you all I had to say back there and I thought you believed me. I will not apologize for my former mistakes again, I will not kneel to you any time it pleases you to remind me of them. I won't."

Arthur began to think he might have overdone it this time. It had not been much of a choice Morgause had given him on this day in Doloreux but a choice nevertheless, and he had chosen reconciliation with his sister willingly. "Morgana I…."

Yet she hissed back like an aggravated cobra "I don't know what I've ever seen in you, Arthur Pendragon. You can just go to hell for all I care."

"That's a wish most likely to be fulfilled" Arthur said to her departing back.

The Queen, who had already turned towards the exit, halted.

As cool as you please, Arthur continued "I say; you, Guinivere and Margaly make ready to leave Camelot by tomorrow; for the Isle of the Blessed or wherever Morgause and Morgwyn are presently hanging around together. You'll have to take Gaius and Merlin, for they're known as sorcerers by now, I think. The knights will be safe, though. Once I'm gone, they pose no threat to Camelot's new masters."

"I didn't believe Morgause when she said our father's cruelty had left you with a death wish" Morgana muttered.

She flinched when her brother took her by the shoulders from behind. "This has to do with facts, not with what I might wish. If wishes were horses, I'd still be Camelot's best warrior and to hell with the three measly snivelling simps they can send against me."

"It'll cost Merlin and me a wave with our small fingers to let your opponents crush to the ground helpless. They wouldn't even know it hadn't been you who struck them down. Why don't you accept our help, Arthur? Just this once."

"They would _know,_ Morgana. They know what this iron club has done to me. Even if they couldn't prove anything, they would find another excuse, send in another army, another challenge. It would never stop. Camelot would go on suffering. You, my family – no one would be safe."

Morgana turned to face him, her little brother, unbelievably valiant, unbelievably foolish, and always most endearing when he was both "Then why fight these brutes at all? When you know you cannot win? If we've lost our cause already, why should you die for it?" She smiled weakly. "If you'd ask nicely, you could come with us."

"Many hounds soon catch the hare" Arthur replied softly. "If I leave now, they'll know it. If I accept their challenge they'll wait. And you and the others need the time."

"But I could…..or rather, Morgause could…."

"Lance is right, Morgana. Before she can do anything, most of Camelot will be destroyed. And we lack the means to shelter our people in the citadel. That's not an option this time."

"So you are going to die in five days time." She felt an unimaginable, unbearable wrath build up inside her. It took all her strength to keep it hidden. "Not much of a Golden Age, was it."

"It was great while it lasted."

"Will you tell Gwen yourself?"

Arthur shuddered at the mere thought of doing so, but he hardly could leave this special explanation to somebody else. "Of course. But, Morgana – not a word to the others. Promise me."

"Big promise, Your Majesty. My lips are sealed."

Arthur smiled, relieved. One of his womenfolk persuaded, one still to go. He had to be grateful for small blessings. "You will take care of them, will you not. Gwen and Margaly and…. whoever the child will turn out to be."

For a second, Morgana could see behind his façade and spot the raw fear he really felt, and it made her almost tremble with fury. "Do you think you have to ask?"

"No, not really. I know you will."

"You should go to Gwen at once."

"Yes. Yes, I should."

Morgana waited until he was gone before she left herself, heading to Merlin's new quarters in the palace with long, purposeful strides that virtually swept everybody in her way off his feet. However, as much as she searched, she could not find her fellow warlock. In the infirmary she found Merlin's neckerchief and some items he had left there, but neither himself nor Gaius.

So she finally withdrew to her own chambers, dismissed her servants and began to make plans of her own. One thing was certain: Merlin would show up rather sooner than later. Whatever happened, he'd come back from hell to pull Arthur's neck out of the noose.

Nevertheless, she had sat, paced, kicked her furniture and brooded some hours before someone knocked furtively at her door. She stormed through her room to open it and was more than a bit taken aback to find the Court Physician in front of it.

"Where the hell is Merlin?" was the first thing that came to her mind.

"I beg Your Majesty's pardon for disturbing you. May I come in?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

Gaius was so very casual, so very natural about making himself at home on the small balcony of her sitting room, that Morgana could do nothing but simply follow his example.

Having him around in every childhood crisis had been part of both their lives and if the old man wanted to, he could play on her and Arthur's life long habits like a musician would play his instrument.

"Where's Merlin?" the Queen repeated.

"Merlin is with Algernon, in the Druids' encampment outside the castle walls. It'll be a while before he's back, I'm afraid."

"What in blazes is he doing there?" Angrily Morgana stood up; her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the balustrade.

"Having his ears boxed for what you two did this morning in the forest."

"What would the Druids know about that? They weren't invited!"

"That wasn't necessary. Every magician in Albion had his hairs standing up at what you did today! I'm astonished you haven't heard from your sister yet. Algernon surely is on his toes."

The Queen narrowed her eyes to slits, like a cat, and like a cat she snarled. "How dare the tottering old Druid fool meddle with what I chose or chose not to do with one of my own Courtiers?"

"Speaking from a Courtier's perspective, I'd say nothing at all" Gaius replied most gently. "Your Majesty's choices are yours to make and yours alone."

Morgana looked into his face sharply. Did he mean it or was this purposeful flattering? No, Gaius wouldn't sink that low.

"Speaking from the Druids' perspective, I'd say your and Merlin's antics in the forest hardly left Algernon a choice" the old man continued meanwhile.

"And why would that be?"

"You know what place the great Emrys has in the Druids' legends. They believe firmly in them. Not all their memories of the Blessed Isle's rule are altogether pleasant, and they dote on Merlin to protect the balance between their newly found position of influence here in Camelot and your Lady Sister's upcoming claim on their allegiance and services, once the Isle has been rebuild."

"All the more reason for Algernon and his lot to be grateful for our ability to secure Camelot. What we achieved in the forest this morning…."

Gaius noted her continuous use of the word 'we'. There had been a time when she would've said 'I'. It spoke well of her growing insight into her magic's volatile nature. However, what good did all of this now? "It was living proof that you two could lay waste to every hostile settlement, could flatten every attacking force and send all of Camelot's enemies to oblivion in less than ten minutes. I do not doubt that."

"There you are then." Morgana was visibly satisfied that she had made her point so easily.

Gaius sighed. "It's not so easy after all. The Druids have another look on the world. To quote our friend Algernon: '_Disturbing the peace of nature, unleashing aggressive energy like that, causing that much destruction, just for the fun of it – it's obnoxious. Abomination! Blasphemy_!' End of quote."

"It was _not _just for the fun of it."

"But you did enjoy it, did you not?"

"And why shouldn't I? What's so bad about taking pride in my abilities? My brother always was proud of his skill in battle …." Her voice trailed off.

"And now that he's lost it you feel obliged to step in for him. I understand that. And I think it's admirable. I said so, to the Druids, to Leon and his bunch of sword-wielders; they're all buzzing around like a nest of much aggravated but utterly disoriented wasps ever since your brother announced that he's going to commit suicide."

Morgana flinched. "They know that Arthur has no chance?"

"The state of your brother's arms isn't much of a secret, to friends and foes alike. Osric's ritual is very well known for disabling a victim's fighting abilities as well as his reputation beyond repair."

The physician now rose too and stepped closer. "In spite of that the day for a great magic battle for Camelot has not yet come, My Lady. A show of invincible magic warfare, like the one you're aiming at, cannot save us in the long run. Not only our enemies would fear us far too much for our own good, our own people would do the same. People frightened out of their wits are dangerous and incalculable. That cannot be our way. You and Arthur, you need their respect, not a feigned submission whilst they're are plotting against you secretly."

"Much good their respect will do my brother once he's dead" Morgana said bitterly. "Or worse, once he's been taken alive."

Seeing Gaius frown she added "put yourself in our enemies' shoes. Uther is dead, Arthur was – _is_, if it weren't for the burn mark – the lawful heir. By the knights' code he has to face his challengers alone in the arena. What's easier than to overwhelm him? Hell, they could even sell it as an act of mercy. Once he's in their hands, they can do everything they want, like forcing him into admitting that he has been my helplessly enchanted prisoner when he went against Uther." She grinned viciously. "Which of course would make them the poor misled Prince's saviours, entitled to – well, do the maths yourselves. I'm sure I'd not be the only one who'd be forced down on his back to support our enemies' claim to _our_ throne."

"I must admit, I hadn't thought of that" the old man said woefully.

"Neither has my brother, thank heaven for small mercies. It would haunt him more than his imminent death does."

Gaius looked up. "He realizes it then? He's not deluding himself?"

"Arthur knows it is suicide to take on that challenge." To hell with her promise to keep silent about his plans. "He wants to sacrifice his own life to ensure a stable succession in Camelot. I and Gwen and you all shall go somewhere safe." She snorted derisively. "Where would the Druids' newly found position of influence be then, eh?"

Much against her will, she was panting heavily by now, despairing at the others' inability to see the obvious, to see that her powers were the solution here. Stupid, stupid fools; all this idiotic, senseless talk about morality and ethics. Outside the wolves were gathering, ready to destroy everything she'd fought for; everything that was _hers_; her baby brother included.

Gaius saw her distress and felt miserable. On her behalf. And on Merlin's.

If Marke and his confederates got their way, the warlock would lose everything; his home, his best friend, and the woman he'd undoubtedly loved more than his life, or he would not have undertaken to bind his own magic to another as utterly alien as hers. For one thing was certain: Whatever orders Arthur gave; his sister would live or die by his side. Morgana Pendragon would not run from Camelot thrice.

And yet, what she was intending could not, in fact must not, be.

"Morgana" Gaius said. "There is something you should know. About your magic." Inwardly he cringed. It was not a small thing to break an oath to the High Priestess, no less. "_For Arthur's and all of Camelot's sake you should make sure that Morgana will never know her true nature_" Morgause had gnarled, and she had meant every word of it. Taken into consideration that she, as the High Priestess, was bound by a sacred duty to have her own sister executed should her nature become known, her passion was more than understandable.

"Save your breath, I've heard it all before" the Queen now said. "I need more control, Merlin is teaching me how to achieve that, so everything is well."

"Your magic can never be really controlled, Morgana" Gaius burst out. "Merlin was born with a natural restraint, I learned mine over years and years, but you can do what you want, you'll never be safe. You are what's called a Destroyer, child. Your magic isn't a gift, it's a curse!"

Morgana's throat was working under her silken skin. She was so tensed, she almost trembled. Gaius felt her instinctive reaction in every bone of his body, although he had done his best to conjure up a protective spell in advance. The painful pressure of her anguish grew and he fought for breath until, as suddenly as it had started, it washed over him and was gone.

"Yes, I can do what I want, you'll still think I'm evil" she said chokingly. "I should have known. You all hate me."

"You're not evil, you just can't help yourself" Gaius said despairingly. "Your magic was born to get _its_ way in the end, not yours. It is the natural opposite to Merlin's ability. They may run together up to a certain point, but sooner or later your power will turn against his. Pray tell me, in your training lessons, was Merlin never hurt?"

Morgana lowered her head and chewed on her lip awkwardly. For all her proud speeches, things were far from clear, especially to herself.

There had been that one glorious moment in which her magic had combined with Merlin's potential, had filled every fibre of her mind and body, before she had sent it off to let earth and heaven know who and what she was, never to be forgotten.

_**Yes**_, this was about Arthur, about Camelot, and about Morgause's mission to re-establish the Blessed Isle. _**But**_ somewhere deep inside her, nothing of this was important. It was that feeling of absolute power she cherished, that breathtaking glory she was longing to regain, like a notorious drunkard would pine for his next sip.

_**Yes,**_ she could hardly bear the thought that it should not be her and her abilities that would turn events in their favour. _**But**_ the pictures of Merlin's horse were still fresh in her mind.

_**Yes**_, she wanted to fight, wanted to strike, wanted to belong as one who had fought and won a right to be a part of the whole, wanted it with all the passion she was capable of. _**But**_ what if the next collateral damage would not be an animal? What if it was someone she knew? Someone she cared about? What if it was….

"You're right, Gaius" the Queen said haughtily. "A show of strong magical power would be unwise under the circumstances. We'll have to think of something else."

"Morgana, have you understood what I just told you?"

"Naturally I have, I'm neither deaf nor dumb. If we are to use magic, and I still think we have no other choice, it must be from the back of the scene. As Merlin has a lot of experience on that score, as well as you, I'm sure we can come up with something accordingly subtle."

"My Lady, you must realize that your magic's nature is as devastating to you as a sorceress, as Arthur's crushed wrists are to him as a knight. His sword is lost to him and your magic is lost to you. These training lessons must stop!"

"I suggest you see to it that Merlin returns as soon as possible, we do not have much time to set a plan into motion."

"Morgana…."

"You are dismissed, physician!"

Gaius looked at her and his resolve left him. How very well he knew this face. The face of a Pendragon who chose willingly to ignore what he didn't like. Uther, his son, his daughter – ignoring reality when it didn't suit them was their royal aptitude and privilege.

The Court Physician bowed to his Queen. "My Lady."

While he bustled back to the infirmary, to wait for a probably very aggravated warlock to tell him what was expected of them both. At least he knew what Merlin would say. "Prats" he would mutter. "Royal prats, the lot of them."

Barely 15 minutes later, Gaius heard exactly these words.

It was sometime in the late night – the very late night – that the two wizards had worked out a plan that at least _could_ work.

"We must inform Morgana" Merlin said. "We can't inform Arthur, or the element of surprise might be lost."

"Our young King is a very good actor when the situation calls for it."

"His act will be even more convincing if he doesn't know he's acting."

"Merlin, he thinks he's going to die in five days' time. Gwen will think the same. You _must_ tell them."

"No!"

Gaius raised his brows. "You think he won't like it. You think he'll forbid it."

"What if he does? Do you want to see me go against his orders or will you see me and Morgana show the world what she is capable of? And please stop telling me this idiotic Destroyer crap Algernon came up with. It's superstitious nonsense. There is no such thing as a magic born evil. _You _taught me that."

Gaius stared at his ward. At his almost-son. "_Do you love her so much, my boy? Does love make you that blind_?" Yet he said something completely different. Something that chilled him to the bone, for the thought of Morgause. "Algernon knows about that?"

"He hardly talked about anything else. But don't we have more important things to do right now?"

Gaius needed a chair. "Yes. Yes, of course." He pulled himself together. "You're right. We must leave Arthur in the dark, as well as the others. It grieves me, but it has to be."

"I'll inform Morgana, so that she doesn't make her own arrangements" Merlin smiled.

And so he did. Surprisingly he hadn't much difficulty in persuading her. She was in love with the plan almost on first sight. It appealed to her playful side, to her joy in devious games and masquerades. And it was very far away from what Gaius had called 'destructive magic'. She didn't like thinking about that at all. "I like this plan. I like it very much." Her grin became broader. "I guess even Algernon could go along with that." Merlin grinned himself goofily when he was rewarded with an unexpected hug. It wasn't exactly a gentle one, but then – Pendragons and their knowledge about embraces…...

"About Arthur and Gwen..." he said reluctantly once she had let go of him. He wished she'd still had her arms around him.

"Leave Gwen to me. I'll see to it that she and Margaly will be secure while we pull this through. As for Arthur – once this is done, he'll love it too. My little brother likes to be the tragic hero, always has and always will do."

She was so radiantly sure of herself, and of the future, that Merlin couldn't help himself, he felt his own spirits rise, too.

This would work. After all, it wasn't much more than a lark, was it. What bad could ever come from a lark?


	3. A stone's throw

**A/N: **

**Many, many thanks to all the people who put this story on their favourites' and/or story alert list. Such E-Mail-Messages keep me going (almost!) as much as reviews do.**

**Reviewers always earn my eternal gratitude, even those who send in reviews without a reply link. To those people: Big bear hug and tokens of my passionate love for taking the trouble of reviewing this.**

**Jammeke send me a review, asking, among other things, " _Oh. *Oh*. How many times is Arthur going to die in this story? Well, almost die, that is? I think I've lost count of the number of times he's managed it so far. ;-) _Well, I promise the last chapter was the last time for a while.**

**Please keep these reviews coming. And, if you really like the story, do not forget to tell your friends all about it. If you don't like it, please keep your mouth shut but send me a review with your reasons (do not forget the reply link in those!)**

**And naturally: My most sincere apologies for taking so long for this update. I was kind of busy for a change. I'll try to be more regular again from now on.**

**A future haunted by the past **

**3. A stone's throw from the Golden Age**

"You can as well stop talking, Arthur. I won't do it and that's final!" Guinivere smiled most politely while she said it, but only to soften the blow.

Her husband looked at her despairingly. Hours ago he had entered this discussion, most cleverly in his own opinion, with an apology for his behaviour in the throne room. It had perhaps been the most insincere apology of his life – although he had once given a lot of these to his father – but it had also been the most useless.

While she had at once been all remorse for her own misplaced earlier remark, this had done nothing to convince her that she had to leave.

Arthur had then consecutively flattered her, yelled, growled, begged and screamed; it had achieved exactly nothing. When Elyan threw around his weight as a worried brother, Gwen had send him packing so discourteously that he had slunk off like a scolded puppy with his tail between his legs.

Guinivere agreed that Margaly should be brought to safety but she was adamant that she herself would stay, and nothing her husband said or did could persuade her otherwise. Finally she came up with the argument that she had been sworn in as a Member of the Fellowship of the Round Table as much as his knights. So she could not abandon her post, could she.

She looked very satisfied that she had thought of that, and the exasperated King did not know whether to hug and kiss or slap her.

"Sweetheart, please. For the sake of our second child…." Arthur tried again.

"Oh, to hell with that, it's not even born yet. I was your wife before I became its mother. Why tends everybody to forget that?"

"Because the little ones cannot take care of themselves, that's why."

"And you can?"

"_Guinivere_!"

Arthur knew he should have kept up his regal appearance of utter rejection, the more so as he had really taken offence; but he found he couldn't when she laid her arms around his neck and kissed him. "When will you learn that it is not a King's duty to do everything himself?" she murmured afterwards. "Not even Uther thought he could rule Camelot alone."

She almost choked on the word 'Uther' and instinctively Arthur took her into his arms in a very protective manner. "Darling, it won't help me at all to know that you and Morgana are up on that tribune when I fight. It'll only distract me."

"So Morgana will stay, but I may not?" She stiffened at once and tried to pull away.

Pendragon closed his eyes in sheer desperation. All he had wanted to say was that the one would not leave without the other, and now he was in hot water up to his neck. What curse was it that always made him choose the wrong words in such situations?

"I didn't say that…."

"Yes, you did."

"Morgana has promised me to bring you and Margaly to safety, Guinivere. And she has promised to take care of all of you in the future. So there you are." The young King was pleased that he should have thought of such an undeniable proof for his sister's imminent departure.

A red hot wave flushed Gwen's neck and face; not even her velvet dark skin could hide it. "So that's how you really think of me" she hissed. "I'm a weakling; I need your sister to take care of me and of my child, because I'm too stupid to do it myself!"

In the blink of an eye, Arthur found himself pushed against the wall, too surprised by the violent action to do anything about it. Speechlessly he watched his infuriated wife pace to and fro, angry tears in her eyes while she spared him nothing of what she felt. He didn't hear half of it and he understood even less, because she was sobbing in between and her sentences were cut in halves and jerky.

Finally, completely at a loss at what else to do, he gave it up. He tried again later, but he was talking to a wall for all she cared.

Consequentially, when the fateful fifth day came, neither woman had left, Merlin and Gaius were still there, Algernon and his people were too, they had heard nothing from Morgause or Morgwyn for all the urgent messages Morgana finally admitted to have sent her sister.

In uncharacteristic fatalism, Arthur thought that he could as well give up the pretence that he was in charge of anything in Camelot. Another discussion about his chances was the last thing he could cope with right now, so in sheer self-defence he avoided the subject determinedly. Besides, although he despised himself for it, he depended for dear life on not being alone during this horrible wait.

With time, Merlin's cheerfulness, as well as Morgana's and Gaius' unwavering calm, were a bit too conspicuous under the circumstances and Arthur began to wonder.

A half awkward, half hopeful feeling sneaked on him. A feeling that his sister and magician-friends might have made some plans of their own, and that he had not yet seen the end of the matter. The thought grew to an irrational dimension; the more so as he was completely unmolested when he withdrew to the training ground for practising. Not even Gaius reproached him for it – or for the utter uselessness of the empty gesture.

As a result, the young King was in idiotically high spirits the day be fore the tournament was scheduled. For the first and most likely the last time in his life, and with Merlin's most determined albeit silent support, he pampered himself with ungrounded optimism and let his imagination run wild.

And yet, Lancelot could not have chosen a worse moment to demand an impromptu audience with his King.

"My Lord we think, if your challengers chose champions to fight for them, why shouldn't you do the same?" the knight said. "We've discussed this amongst ourselves and we think that one of us should take on the challenge on your behalf."

He stood there, head erect, smiling friendly; a handsome young man in the bloom of his years and strength; a superb fighter who knew his abilities and what to do with them. Women's eyes followed him wherever he went, but he never cared. People gossiped that he must have a secret love that blinded him to any other.

Having known the poisonous tittle-tattle of evil tongues all his life, Arthur had shrugged it all off so far, even one or two more ribald hints at Lancelot looking peculiarly at another man's wife or at his growing popularity and the adoration he enjoyed for his skill with the sword.

Now, like a flash of lightning, all the rumours came back. Suddenly Arthur was no longer sure for whose benefit Gwen was staying and all his laboriously kept up self-confidence virtually imploded; leaving a burning, bleeding hole in his shaken soul.

"Have you indeed" he replied venomously. "And pray enlighten me, who should take my place in the arena tomorrow?"

"We've drawn straws" Lancelot said, a bit aghast at the acid tone, but eagerly despite of it. "I won. So I beseech you to allow me to fight in your place tomorrow."

It was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Ten horrible minutes later, a crestfallen Lancelot fled from the King's office as if all demons of hell were after him, while a deeply shocked Merlin stared at his royal friend's chalk white face as if he saw it for the first time ever.

"You…..you don't mean that, do you?" the warlock stammered. "You wouldn't banish him, would you?"

Merlin yelped when Arthur pushed his shoulder angrily. "You knew, all the time" the King said. "You knew they'd loved each other before she came to me."

"Arthur, you're making this up. Gwen loves you. And you said I'm your friend. Would a friend do this to you?"

"Maybe I was wrong about _our_ relationship, too. After all, your good friend Lance knew about your magic before I did. You never chose to tell me anything."

"I did not tell him anything either. He just watched me, by accident. Great Gods, is this a moment to bring up all this snow from yesteryear?"

"How should I know that it is snow from yesteryear? It may be snow from last night for all I know."

"What do you take Guinivere for? Damn it, she married you. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"Maybe she's disappointed. I'm not much of a catch after all."

Merlin was taken aback. "What is the matter with you? You behave like a madman!"

"Well, you do not have to waste your precious time on me any longer. Get out."

"But I…."

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! Before I do something I might regret."

After that, Arthur found himself a spare room, curled up on the bed there and spent what might well be his last night on earth with feeling terrible. At first he had silently raged that he was so very misunderstood and unappreciated but as always, this didn't last long. All too soon, his thoughts went down another, more torturous alley. What mistakes had he made, where had he taken the wrong turn? Where had he been at fault, bad enough to deserve his lot?

In his mind, Arthur began arguing with his father. These silent, tormenting debates had become a frequent obsession of his, one he shared with nobody. Usually they ended with the young King feeling utterly inadequate, a dreadful failure. But this time, things worked out differently.

There were some rare, precious things carved in stone in Arthur's soul, far beyond the devastating reach of even Uther Pendragon's overwhelming shadow, dead or alive.

The friendship with a peasant sorcerer from Ealdor was only one of these things. The punishment the father could inflict on his son's mind even from the grave also stopped where _she_ was involved.

A long time ago Arthur had made up his mind that Guinivere was much more important than Uther Pendragon. Nothing had ever changed that. And nothing ever would.

The King came to a decision and rose. There were other debates to be had, while there was still time. He had wasted too much of it already, while anger and suppressed fear had clouded his judgement.

Alas, Lance, too, had been angry and devastated enough to lose his common sense. He had told Gwen all about his encounter with Arthur, including the more nasty parts of her husband's suspicions. He asked her to come with him. She chucked him out and he could not doubt that this dismissal was a final one. His face hot with shame and the burning hurt of devoted love rejected, Lance ran from her quarters. He grew up in this night, and he came out of it another man.

Compared to what Gwen felt after that scene, even Arthur had a rather pleasant night.

When her husband came to her, shortly before dawn, she was ready for everything. Except for what he had to say. At first she could not believe it. Then she listened more carefully. And eventually she forgot that a man named Lancelot had ever existed.

Merlin, having got an earful of what Gaius had to say to all of it – repeatedly coming back to "I've told you, this secrecy would do no good!" – debated with himself the whole night if or if not he should go to his friend in the morning to help him get ready for the fight. Finally he trotted furtively into the King's chambers, only to find Gwen helping her husband into his armour. Neither of them looked up and after a minute, Merlin left; a sick, aching feeling in his heart. He should have been glad for them, and yet he would have given much to be with his best friend before he went into a possibly fatal battle.

The warlock barely made it to the edge of the jousting field in time. People were swarming it already. Somehow, everyone had found out what this was all about; at another time Merlin would have found it heart-warming to see and hear that the commoners were mostly on the Pendragons' side. Now the warlock could only think of how much these people could do if his plan did not work out. The answer was: Nothing. Nothing at all.

Merlin remembered the jousting match between Arthur and his cousin Becco all these months ago, which had ended with an al most lethal injury for Uther's son. It didn't bode well of what was to come today. Suddenly his plan seemed childish, doomed to failure.

Merlin's gaze strayed to the splendid stands of Camelot's high society. The few aristocrats, courtiers and rich people that had not yet left the city, in body or at least in mind, had also gathered. For a moment the warlock wondered at what they might be feeling under all these fine clothes and splendid jewels. Fear for their young King? Or hope for a more prosperous future without him?

He flinched when he found one of the biggest stalls occupied. Flying proudly in the morning breeze, it sported the colours of both Ravenclaw and Bodmin, as well as the Branguards' house flag. Led by the two brothers themselves, everybody who had a rank and a name in the two estates was there. Each and every man's armour showed the great dragon crest of Camelot. It was a demonstration of loyalty and in this very moment, it was more welcome than all the riches of Sheba could have been.

Merlin wanted to walk over to speak to Malcolm Branguard who was the more accessible of the two brothers, but before he could do so, fanfares belted out.

Side by side, followed by all the knights of Camelot, the Queen and her sister in law took their places in the royal stall. Morgana rose again and, as calm as you please, with an amiable smile she declared today's tournament open, like she had done many a time during Uther's reign. For the serenity she displayed, it could have been an every day occasion, some sport event that did not matter much.

Only now Merlin dared looking at the other side of the field, where the banners of their enemies were flying, the crests of the three knights that were to fight the King of Camelot on behalf of the three highest ranking opponents Marke, Lot and Leodegrance were already displayed on the board. This very moment, the three nobles took their own seats, together with their followers.

Merlin smiled with bitter irony. Their relatively small, hand-picked entourage would fool no one. Outside the city gates, their assembled armies covered every square inch of the ground. That the Branguards had come here unmolested was a miracle nobody had expected. Most likely the three self-styled saviours of Camelot's honour had thought to impress and flatter the brothers, win them over in a charm-offensive. If that was the case, the display of the Camelot crests could do nothing to improve Marke's or the others' mood.

The fanfares sounded again, announcing Arthur's entry to the field. The whole rigid etiquette of a tournament was meticulously reeled off, until Merlin would have liked to scream. Bastards, filthy petty minded bastards; they used the knights' code and Arthur's sense of loyalty and righteousness to get their unjust spoils even cheaper; cowardly denying their opponent the mercy of an honourable death in open battle. Instead they made sure that everybody would witness Arthur's weakness and his disgraceful defeat.

No matter how this day would end, the warlock knew he would never forgive these men. Sooner or later, he would make them pay. In the strangling grip of his fears and fury, Merlin was very, very far away from the gentle young peasant boy that had once come from Ealdor to find his destiny in Camelot.

He caught Morgana's intense gaze. It told him that her magic reacted to his state of mind and was ready to join him in what ever catastrophe he might wish to create. For a second, the temptation was almost overwhelming. Merlin saw his best friend enter the field, getting ready to be slain like a piece of cattle, and he gritted his teeth. "_Now_!" his magic screamed at him. "_Now_! _Before it is too late_."

Sweat trickled off his brow into his eyes and his breathing became ragged. The power built up in him, raising, struggling against his control as it had never done before, wanting to be released; fighting to be let out of its cage, while the herald read out the first proxy fighter's name, rank and title. An instant later, the two swords would clash against each other and Arthur's useless ordeal would begin in earnest.

Merlin felt the magic tempest tremble in his finger tips, while Morgana's eyes seemed to burn a hole into him. He felt her tension, her apprehension as if the anguish was his own. "_Strike. Strike out now_! _Blow them to pieces, kill them, kill them all_."

Whether the impulse was his own or hers didn't matter. It was all the same to him. Merlin raised his hands and closed his eyes, ready to let fly.

"HALT!"

It took the wizard a moment to realize that Duke Marke had risen from his place and interrupted the whole procedure. His full booming voice echoed over the field that had become mute already. It was enough to momentarily break Merlin's concentration, enough to calm his wrath. Just a tiny bit, but it saved the arena from being blown to oblivion.

Morgana's gaze left her fellow warlock and focussed on the old man in the centre of the enemies' stand.

There was a short, unintelligible but visibly fierce debate among Marke and his two allies, but the Duke did not yield. "We've come here today to call on God the almighty to be the judge of who is the rightful bearer of Camelot's Crown" Marke thundered at the top of his lungs. "We've prayed for a sign and a sign has been given to us."

He gave a signal with his hand and four of his men carried an obviously heavy item into the centre of the arena. The huge thing of peculiar shape, was covered with a large cloth of the finest silky velvet.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur shouted irritably. "If you want to back out of the fight, just say it!"

"I have no reason to back out, unless you can prove yourself our lawful King by the will of God" Marke replied. His men pulled the cloth away and the crowd murmured and stirred in confusion. A big stone was revealed; its flanks sparkled golden in the sunlight. But the most astonishing sight was the hilt and upper half of a magnificent sword that stuck out from the stone.

"This stone appeared out of nowhere in front of my chapel's altar three days ago while I was in prayer" the Duke said solemnly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I ask Your Highness to read the inscription that's engraved on it."

The King shook his head. "I will do no such thing. I agreed to answering your challenge with my sword. I will not be part of this childish hocus-pocus."

"_Arthur, you idiot_!" Merlin thought furiously. "_Read the damned inscription!_"

Marke pointed determinedly at the stone. "I and these worthy men have pledged our lives to see justice return to Camelot. You will answer the challenge that is given to you, or you and all of yours will suffer the consequences!"

Merlin snorted inaudibly. "_You're welcome to try!"_ His thoughts or Morgana's? Who the hell cared?

Angrily Arthur sheathed his blade. "Save your breath, old man. I will not play the fool for you."

"Leave this place and my army will flatten the citadel and everyone in it!" The Duke and his two allies now drew their own blades. As did their followers.

Leon and the knights, including stony-faced Lancelot, did the same. Merlin's gaze flickered to the Branguards' place but to his profound disappointment they did not stir.

Marke, virtually flustered by self-righteousness and moral superiority, found that the decisive moment had finally arrived. "Then by the laws of the land and by divine judgement, you've forfeited the right to your father's throne" he roared. "Arrest him!"

Outnumbered six to one, Leon and his bunch stood no chance when the Cornwall men surrounded Arthur while their comrades kept the angry crowd in check. Knowing that his case was lost, the young King bellowed an order to stay where they were at the knights, to protect the women, before he was overwhelmed.

With an indifferent face but a heart racing in her throat, Morgana waited until she could be sure that her brother had been secured and that he was unharmed. Before Marke could use his successful surprise strike to his advantage, her commanding voice filled the arena. "I will see what this allegedly divine symbol has to say!"

"Keep out of this, witch. You may call yourself a Queen but we all know what you really are!" Leodegrance was almost hilarious with this easy victory. Uther's son in their hands almost without a scratch and Camelot castle, the impregnable citadel, was at their mercy.

"That much is true" Morgana answered coldly. "Last time I checked I was my father's daughter!"

"Let her see the stone" Marke ordered resolutely. "If her witchcraft cannot break the spell we have valid prove that the prophecy is genuine."

This was not what Leodegrance wanted. "We have all the evidence we need."

Lot looked around him and saw defiant faces, heard angry shouts from the crowd, realized the cold calculation in the features of the nobility. And the enigmatic expression of the two Branguards. Suddenly the town looked very big to him. Dark corners, huts and houses where a small army could be hidden. "_Have we taken the citadel or has the citadel taken us_?" he thought, suddenly nervous. On impulse, he laid a calming hand on the other man's shoulder. "Let her try her luck, Leodegrance. Marke is right."

Ignoring their quarrel, Morgana was already walking towards the stone. Arthur struggled uselessly against the fists that held his arms behind his back while a hand in a thick glove was clamped over his mouth, stifling every sound.

Leon gritted his teeth while he watched. Gwaine's eyes went to Merlin, knowing somehow that he was the key to a riddle he did not yet understand. As long as the warlock kept quiet in spite of Arthur's predicament, the knights should do the same.

"He who frees me is a King to wield me" Morgana read out loud. "He who has me got shall be the King of Camelot." She cleared her throat before she continued. "Well then. Let that be the real challenge Duke Marke. Whoever can take this blade out of the stone shall rule Camelot unquestioned and unchallenged. Do I have your word that you and your allies will accept the outcome whatever it will be?"

"We will accept it" Marke said. "Upon our honour and my faith, you have my word."

Lot rolled his eyes to heaven in frustration. "_Pompous old fool!" _he thought._ "To hell with you and your darn faith."  
><em>

Morgana made a big show of using all her magical powers to free the sword from the stone before she gave up. Only Merlin and Gaius knew that she did not use her powers at all, for fear she might succeed where she didn't want to.

Hidden in the shadows, Algernon and his Druids shook their heads in disbelief, too.

Excalibur was Khilgarrah's and Emry's gift to Arthur Pendragon. Dragon magic had created the blade and a Dragon Lord's will kept it in place until the chosen hand would take it. How could anybody fail to see that?

It took a long while for every man and boy of noble birth to try his luck. Long before the trial was over, it had turned from a momentous event into a comedy in the peoples' eyes.

When an elderly relative of Lot's tried his luck, he fell on his backside when his hands slipped and the crowd roared with laughter. They fell silent only when the two Branguards approached the stone. Each of the brothers pulled at the blade just once, before Malcolm turned to the old Duke. "There's only one man left to try. Tell your men to release him!"

"Like hell we will" Leodegrance gnarled. As he saw it, their royal hostage was the only thing that stood between them and total defeat. He howled with anger when Marke gave a signal and his soldiers untied their prisoner.

Merlin tensed when Arthur went to the stone like a dream-walker.

Numb with exhaustion, without thinking, without hope, without despair, Pendragon took the hilt of the beautiful blade. Strange thoughts stumbled through his tired brain. His whole life had been an endless succession of gestures, symbols and empty façades, all in the name and service of royalty and duty he had neither asked nor wished for. Wasn't it fitting to have one last senseless gesture before it would all be over?

He had fought and fought and fought. For what? For the love of Camelot? Where was that love now that it was _him_ who needed it?

Did people really care about the name of the King they paid their taxes to? Did the soil care who trod upon it? Or about the one time dreams and yearnings of the people buried in it?

Arthur Pendragon's fate had never been his own; how he looked, acted, spoke, whom he loved – other people's wishes had been his command, what _they_ thought, what _they_ saw fit, what _they_ expected him to do – nothing _he_ had thought or felt had been important. Until Merlin had come. Until Gwaine and the others had joined him. Until he saw, really _saw_ Guinivere for the very first time.

No.

Not for a metal crown. Not for Uther's reluctant approval, slow in coming, quickly forgotten. No longer for the love of _Camelot_ alone.

Queen Igraine's son pulled and the blade came out of the stone as easily as a hot knife would cut through butter. Excalibur sang while it slid upwards, the metal sparkled and then the blade pointed at the sun, bathed in light, shining like a diamond of the purest fire.

"_**Nooo**_!" Leodegrance's furious roar almost drowned out the yelling from a crowd gone mad. "To hell with you and your witch of a sister!"

Before anyone could stop him he came for Arthur, his sword raised, the wish to take what he had already thought to be in reach dominating his mind.

Astonished, Arthur turned and frowned. What did this man want? He never heard Morgana's or Gwen's scream, never saw Merlin hastening across the field towards him, closely followed by Gwaine and Leon.

When Leodegrance's sword forcefully clashed against Excalibur, the Dragon's blade sang again. Gracefully the attacking sword was parried. Arthur's counter strike pushed the other man's weapon aside as if it wasn't there. Excalibur danced in the sunlight before it came up again and buried itself in Leodegrance's heart up to the hilt.

Only as the body fell to the ground, Arthur got any idea that the mad cheering and screaming that surrounded him might have anything to do with him. Still somewhat surprised by the peculiar events he looked down, only to see an older man who knelt before him.

Firmly resolved to experience a miracle, to be for once in their mundane lives part of something greater than themselves, people in and around the arena followed Duke Marke's example and fell to their knees.

Merlin was one of the first to do so, but only because, wobbling as they were with relief, his legs didn't support his weight in this moment anyhow.

Proudly, head held high, every inch a Queen, Morgana stood at her brother's side. Behind her serene smile her mind repeated one thought over and over again "_its over. We've won._"

Behind her back, Morgana's hand pressed Gwen's ice cold fingers. "_My children will live_" Guinivere thought disbelievingly. "_We're all alive_!"

Far, far away, some place in the highest mountain range of Albion, Khilgarrah closed his eyes. "May the Great Mother forgive you for forcing destiny under your heel against its will, young warlock" he sighed sadly.

The mighty creature bent his head to the ground although nobody was there to see it. "All hail" he said to an empty cave. "All hail to the King of Camelot. The Gods know, you're gonna need it."


	4. Friendship's heavy burden

**4. ****Friendship's heavy burden**

Somehow Arthur just knew where to find a certain moody warlock. Leaving the castle unseen was much more difficult. To be more precise: It was impossible.

In falling dusk, plain clothes, Excalibur hidden in the most mundane sheath possible and a hood on his head – for all the good the disguise did him, the King of Camelot could have tried to sneak away in broad sunlight shining on his full regal splendour.

"His Majesty's horse" one guard thundered at the other the second Arthur reached his stables and the ensuing commotion startled the embarrassed royal almost as much as the terrified stable boys. Faster than Pendragon could blink, the guards on duty formed an escort, willing to slay any dragon their King would point out to them.

Murmuring something about a test of their alertness and being very satisfied, Arthur managed an impressive strategic retreat, which made a relieved Sir Leon, hidden in the guard house, heave a heartfelt sigh. Gods, he hated stalking Arthur, iot was so very humiliating.

"Imagine that" Gwaine whispered into the other knight's ear. "His royal prattishness sneaking out alone while the whole Cornish and Orkney armies are still camping outside the castle!"

"Yes, and he will try again later if this equally idiotic warlock doesn't show up soon" Leon snapped. "I can only do so much and both our Queens have made it abundantly clear what they expect of me!" To Leon, differentiating between Arthur's sister and his wife was a waste of time and official titles be damned. What difference would it make which woman ripped his head off if he failed in his duty?

"Doesn't it boast your self-esteem that the Ladies have made you head gaoler of the King?" As usual, Gwaine's sarcasm was as merciful as the moonlight was warm.

This time, however, Leon was not to be baited. "Shut up, Gwaine. You have come to like him, too. Why else would you have stayed?"

It was a singular event, that Leon could render Gwaine speechless. Robbed of his sharpest weapons – his tongue and his caustic wit – Gwaine made haste to get away.

Leon was the very last person he wished to discuss his tangled emotions with. Camelot had become Gwaine's home, and, as it was impossible to have Merlin for a friend without adopting the present King of Camelot first, the knight had grudgingly come to admit that he felt for Arthur what he'd feel for a brother. A younger, somewhat idiotic brother who liked stalking around like a preposterous peacock far too much, but, nevertheless, a brother.

While this explained much of how he felt in and for Camelot, it did nothing to explain why he said "yes Sire" so frequently these days, without so much as feeling foolish. Gwaine wasn't used to being voluntarily respectful and it made him feel…. vulnerable.

No, not vulnerable.

Of course not.

Ridiculous thought!

More like….confused. Yes. That was the word. Confused. Confused was good, he could live with confused. Confused he had been before. Well, all right, that had been mostly hangovers, but still. Confused was so much better than vulnerable.

Vulnerable insinuated that Gwaine feared the pain that would come should he lose what he had got. This place. These people. Even the ridiculous Round Table Outfit.

In fact, that was exactly what he _had_ feared lately. That he would lose it all if Arthur failed. And, as events had unfolded two days ago in the arena, the idea of staying on as a knight pretending loyalty to Camelot's new masters because they had the young, presumptuous royal for a hostage had been surprisingly annoying. But as Merlin would never have left his friend, what else could have been done?

Gwaine had found that he didn't like these new feelings of his, not at all. If that was how one felt when one belonged, when one had allowed oneself to become attached, he could well live without.

Could he?

_Would_ he?

Free as a bird and as solitary as a rock in a sand desert?

Gwaine had come that far in his musings – which means, he had made it back to the very start – when he noticed a soldier's mare trotting unhurriedly through the outer gate. Its rider wore an old cloak over hunched shoulders. Fleetingly the knight wondered what the worn out soldier should want outside this time of day but then he forgot all about it.

At least until, somewhat later, a chalk-white Leon roused him from his sleep with the message that Arthur was nowhere to be found.

Actually, for a while Arthur had had the same problem with his warlock-friend. He had found the wizard in a remote spot by the lakeside in the end, just as he had thought he would. Pendragon did not know where or from whom he had first heard about the lake being special for Merlin. But the lake wasn't especially small and when he finally saw the lanky form in the dim moonlight, Arthur was relieved, albeit not surprised. Nor astonished when the warlock barely turned as his King dismounted.

"I could well take offence, you know" Arthur said lightly. "Everyone compliments me on a fine castle, but you prefer the damp grass in a chilly forest."

"You shouldn't be here" Merlin growled softly after a while. "It's too dangerous."

"It's much safer than the great hall right now. Every smile, every word is a blow in the fight."

"I thought we are at peace now."

"Which means that the real fight has only just begun."

The warlock looked up. "What fight?" he asked reluctantly, not really willing to get involved. Not again.

Unceremoniously Arthur dropped down by his side. "They have finally agreed to acknowledge Morgana and me in a public ovation, a week from now."

"Congratulations. You'll need a new cloak and somebody should polish your armour. That's all."

"I wish it were. The ceremony is a double edged sword, Merlin. They acknowledge that I am – we are – their liege. Which of course means that they have to be our liegemen. Which in turn implies that we have to most graciously bestow fiefdoms on them. Geoffrey will have a great day; all these documents and seals. Our beloved Barons bent their knee to us and we give them another title and land in exchange. The ceremony makes both acts binding."

"You mean you have to pay them for allowing you to rule?" Merlin said incredulously.

"Welcome in the real world. Before they let us rule the land, each will bite off a good big piece for himself and for his clan. In turn, their soldiers will come to our aid – at least in theory; parts of their income will go to the Crown – also theoretically; and of course we'll have their most valued advice and superior wisdom in the Council. There's nothing theoretical about the last bit." Arthur chuckled a bit at his own irony. "Lawyers call it the feudal system. Monarchs rule because the aristocracy can't be at peace with each other without them, but without the aristocracy a monarch cannot rule at all."

"Which means?"

"That Morgana and I will draw up a new map, a map of Camelot, and with that we will cut the realm in pieces in order to keep it whole. Gods help us if we give the wrong piece to the wrong man. This day next week it must be ready."

"What business is it of mine? I'm no nobleman, I've got no title."

"Instead you have good common sense and decency."

When his friend looked at him with huge, round eyes, Arthur kept his face straight and serious with a will. "I need you there, Merlin. And not only I, Algernon and his Druids need you too. Hell, magic itself needs you there."

Merlin didn't hear a word. He had more important things on his mind. "So I'm not just an idiot to you after all?"

Arthur hardly trusted his ears. After all these years at Court, how could this walking enigma still be _that_ innocent? Small wonder some simple minds mistook it for stupidity. "You're not more of an idiot than I am a prat."

Merlin snorted, unwillingly yet unable to hide his laughter. "That's not much of a compliment." But then he rose abruptly and shook his head. "I'm out of my depths with such things" he said. "That's your domain. You are the politician here. And besides, I….." he broke off and shrugged awkwardly.

"And besides you're ashamed about the methods you used to keep me on the throne."

Merlin seemed to become smaller under his friend's stern look. "Morgana has told you then?"

"No. Gaius told me that your magic was behind the stone's wondrous appearance in Marke's chapel or whatever this mobile temple of his is called. You also were responsible for the inscription; this prophecy Marke thought had come from his God." Arthur huffed softly. "The grammar should've been a dead give-away. 'He who has me got will be the King of Camelot.' Really, Merlin, even for you. Heavens above."

"I was in a hurry." The warlock scrutinized Arthur's face from behind his lowered lashes. "Are you mad at me?"

"Why should I be? Because my divine chosenness is based on a childish prank? Because I've bought my life and my throne with a cheap trick of magic? That is, correct me from wrong, the reason why you did not inform me of your plan in advance."

Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot. "You _are_ the rightful King of Camelot" he said heatedly. "There's nothing silly in that. And Kilgharrah _has_ forged Excalibur especially for you."

"And you thought it would heighten the dramatic effect if you used a stone for a gift-wrapper? By the way, who on earth is Kilgharrah? One of your sorcerer friends I've still to meet?"

Merlin made a hasty mental note to speak with Gaius about what and what not the healer had told his Prince in Merlin's absence. "Kilgharrah is a magical creature" he replied hastily. "You've met him once but you did not recognize him for what he is. As for 'cheap tricks', I've embedded the sword in the stone long before you fell out with your father and I made sure that only you could free it. The blade has magic. Nobody but you can be entrusted with it."

Against his will, Arthur was touched by the fierce loyalty and trust that spoke with these words. "You could've told me" he said hoarsely, realizing only now that this was the main problem. If they did not trust him, how could he ever trust them not to make their own plans behind his back?

"I needed a way to make your enemies see how very special you are" Merlin said exasperatedly. "That's what the inscription was for. But I knew you wouldn't like it, so I didn't tell you."

"You knew I wouldn't like it, so, in order to do it anyway, you kept me in the dark?"

The wizard felt he was loosing ground in this at a rapid speed. "You can fence with words as well as with a sword" he snapped defiantly. "The way you say it, I'm always in the wrong."

"That's another interesting issue. I _cannot_ fence with a sword very well, not any more. And yet I slit Leodegrance almost in halves as if nothing had happened."

"As I said, Excalibur is a part of you. You alone can pick it up; before anybody else has it, it must be cast away. Like me, it will always protect you."

"And you and the others think that this is acceptable. A fake King on a throne stolen by magic, with an also magical sword to hide from the world that he's an invalid?"

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you" Merlin virtually roared. "That's why I never wanted to tell you anything. _Your_ ego, _your_ pride, _your_ honour, _your_ duty, _your_ sense of right or wrong – did it ever occur to you that the world does not revolve around Arthur Pendragon alone?"

"As of late I think that you've forced my world and life into a new orbit. It's now centred by what _you_ think is right."

It took the wind out of Merlin's sail with a vengeance.

Because in some twisted, unforgivable way, it was perfectly true.

The warlock _had_ come to assume that he knew best what was good for Camelot and he _had_ become accustomed to not asking his master's leave in anything. He had always thought that, once Arthur knew about his magic, this would automatically change. But it hadn't. It couldn't, because somewhere on the way, some unknown moment in time during all these years of friendship and adventure he had, unwittingly, ceased taking Arthur seriously.

Realization was nauseating. His friend had accepted his magic, all these years of lying and cheating, he'd even come to live with the fact that others had known what he had not even guessed for such a long time. But _this_ – this he would not forgive.

There could be no friendship where there was no mutual respect; fondness alone was not enough. One could be fond of a dog or even a small child and it would be sufficient, but for a friend, an equal, it didn't do.

And if this friend was to be a great King, this kind of fondness was a slap in the face.

Arthur's last words still hung in the air; he was looking at Merlin questioningly and the warlock knew that he was on the very brink of destroying everything he'd fought for.

"I'm sorry, Arthur" he said laboriously. "I didn't see it that way. I just wanted this fighting to stop, this tearing apart of lives and hopes. We've all fought so hard already, I thought it was time to…" he shrugged, searching for words "I don't know, to just _live_ for a change."

"So you thought you nail my ass to the throne and then you can finally take a long overdue vacation?"

"Something in that style." Merlin thought that he had to do something about his knees wobbling every time he had avoided total disaster.

"Can't say I really blame you." Arthur wrapped his arms around his own body like he was suddenly freezing. "It's hard to be mad at you for saving my hide, considering the alternative."

"Morgana, even Gwen thinks that you would've welcomed death" the warlock muttered, only to close his eyes in despair immediately afterwards. Great! Fantastic! Jump from the frying pan right into the fire, Merlin.

He almost toppled over with astonishment when Arthur just lowered his head meekly. "I'd not been that lucky" the King said. He looked up and met the wizard's gaze. "They wanted me alive; so that I'd be forced to watch how they erect new pyres for the likes of you in the name of the Christian God. Camelot would've been stripped of her last resources to fatten the realms of Leodegrance and Lot, while my own sister and Morgause would have become our enemies again, in sheer self-defence. Who knows, to save yourself and the Druids from another purge, you'd been forced to change sides, too." He inhaled deeply. "And every death sentence, every arrest, every attack on a Druid village would've been made in _my_ name. It would all have been my doing, because I had been such a fool."

"_Yes you were_" Merlin wanted to say "_everybody who plays on your deference to honour and the knights' code can __**make**__ you a complete fool_." He gulped it down as it didn't fit with his newly found resolve not to belittle his friend's beliefs any more.

"Why do you say that?" he asked instead. "What purge?"

"Marke is a decent man, his faith is genuine and there is much merit in this kind of Christian beliefs. Tristan, his heir, is cut of the same wood. But Erec is a fanatic. Uther kept him on because of the man's fierce hatred against magic, because it matched his own. Leodegrance is dead and Lot I can buy but the fanatic – I will have to bring my foot down in defence of the Old Religion and the Druids without insulting Marke's feelings and his church, and the dispensing of the fiefdoms during the ovation ceremony must be my first step."

"I still can't see what it has to do with me!" Merlin yelped when Arthur ripped his knuckles over his head while he grabbed him in a strangling hold. "Ow! Let go, you prat. Or I'll turn you into a toad!"

"That's not seemly for the great Emrys" the King said. "A warlock born of legends must behave with some dignity in public. He must not play childish pranks, with swords and stones or otherwise. And if he does, no one must ever know."

"I'm Merlin. I'm a peasant boy from Ealdor. I can do whatever I want."

"You were Merlin while I was Prince Arthur. Now that you've made me King, these happy days are over. You're Emrys, Court Magician of Camelot, Speaker of the Druids by Algernon's decree and a constant and reliable Member of our Crown Council. No tomfoolery with the other servants, no herb picking in the middle of a working day, no nice little naps in the stables, no comfortable neckerchiefs and loosely fitting pants any more – as of this day, you'll live on the serious side of life, as much as I do."

"Why should I?"

"Because I say so!"

"I won't!"

"You will!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Watch me!"

"Watch _me_!"

Merlin shouted angrily as Arthur twisted his arm behind his back and pushed him forcibly towards the horses. "Let go of me. I warn you."

"Morgana also thinks we need you. Would you rather I'd send her out to fetch you and see your childish behaviour?"

Still muttering irritably under his breath but without any further resistance, the wizard mounted his horse and made ready to ride back home. Alas, not without a last attempt at having the last word. "I have no clue of what a Council Member has to do."

"Algernon has it all worked out. As he knows exactly what _he_ wants, he also knows exactly what _you're_ going to say. Doubtlessly he'll brief you on every possible detail. Lengthily."

"I'll embarrass you in front of everyone and then you'll see. And it will all be your fault."

"Isn't it always?"

"You bet it is!"

As Arthur only smiled at that, Merlin's spirit rose considerably. Gods, he loved winning a verbal duel once in a while. Maybe he wouldn't be such a total loss in the Council after all.

However, just when they were about to leave the lakeside for good, Arthur reined in his horse suddenly. "As for my wife, Merlin…"

"What of her?"

"This night after Uther had been captured…. You didn't see anything?"

"Only your foolishness."

"Good. Make sure it stays that way. Gwen was with me all night, and the nights after that, she's never been anywhere else during all this time in the camp."

"Sure, she was with you. What of it?"

"There's another child under way since these days. _My_ child. Understood?"

A forgotten picture shot through Merlin's mind. Gwen in Lance's arms, crying, complaining, angry. Everyone had seen Arthur some time during this night and the following day, Gaius, Merlin, Morgana, even Morgause. Everyone but Gwen. After her initial outburst, she had been almost invisible.

Suddenly Arthur's anger towards Lance had a new dimension.

"I know you're going to have a second child" Merlin managed to press out. "Everyone does."

Arthur nodded. "After all, that is what Gaius has officially announced, is it not."

"Yes. Yes, sure. We're all very glad."

As their horses slowly vanished on the way to Camelot Castle, Gwaine and Leon dared breathing again in their hideout under some bushes where they had been crouched ever since Arthur and Merlin had met.

Finding Arthur's track had not been difficult, but following him here had been a masterpiece. _Gwaine's_ masterpiece, as Leon had to admit not without a small bout of jealousy.

While they both stretched their stiff limbs, Leon was a bit crestfallen as he looked at his companion. He had no clue as to what the last part of the overheard conversation had been about, but he had a pretty good idea of what a King's wish for privacy might be. Remorseless he was that he had eavesdropped, as it had been impossible to avoid. But the thought of what Arthur might say if he knew... "You were right Gwaine. The King wouldn't have been very pleased if we'd interrupted _that_ special conversation."

"I'm always right."

"I'll mark that down!"

Gwaine grinned, pleased with himself and with the world. "You're gaining on it, Leon. Who would've thought I'd see the day." He pointed towards the clearing where they had left their own horses. "Shouldn't we make sure that they both make it back home safely?"

"Right again!" Leon turned his head. "Are you coming, Lance? We're going back."

"Yes. Yes, I'm coming."

Gwaine looked at the other knight more closely. Jaws clenched, pale faced and with his eyes gleaming, Lance didn't look very happy. "What's crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nothing. I'm tired. Let's go."

Whilst underway, Leon as well as Gwaine pondered the conversation between Arthur and Merlin silently, chuckling from time to time. Neither of them had a problem with the ruse Merlin and Morgana had conjured up. Sometimes fate needed a little push to work out properly, everybody knew that. Everybody except Arthur obviously, but then royalty lived by different rules.

So the young warlock would have an official function at Court now. That promised to be fun (from where Gwaine was standing) or lots of misunderstandings and tumult (from where Leon was standing).

Lancelot, however, had started counting days and months. And he had begun to remember.

"_You must come with me. I need you, Gwen."_

"_He needs me too. Now go before I say something I might regret!"_

"_Gwen I love you. I cannot live without you. Arthur already knows. You must come with me. He won't take you back now that he knows. You have no choice."_

"_Get out, you bastard. Get out of my sight. I curse the day I first set eyes on you."_

"_You do not even trust him. You've said so yourself. You've said you love me even back then, in the Mercians' den."_

"_I didn't know what I was saying."_

"_He's not the man he once was, not the man we hoped he'd be. He's __nothing but an empty shell."_

"_Arthur is __**twice**__ the man you are. It takes more than a sword to make a man."_ Lance still remembered the contempt in her face, the disgust, like he was an ugly, slimy animal she wanted to get rid of. _"But how should someone like you understand that. All you ever wanted is a uniform and a weapon._"

Sir Lancelot had many endearing and admirable traits of character but he lacked every empathy for despair, for mortal shame or the kind of guilt that can strangle a person's self-respect. He had no idea of what a human being may say just to get out of an unbearable situation only to forget what has been said as soon as possible. He had taken everything she said at face value and he would never forget it.

To the humiliation and the hurt these words had caused came a terrible disappointment. He had been so very proud when Arthur had knighted him; he had looked up to his Prince, admired him, trusted him. If it hadn't been for his love for Gwen, he'd never gone back on the man.

When he reached his quarters that night, Lance had come to terms with what he had heard: For all her idolizing him, Arthur Pendragon was nothing but a fraud, a cheat and a liar. Such a man could not be allowed to raise Lancelot's child. Never.

Sooner or later, there would be a chance to set things right.

Breathing was so much easier now that he knew it wasn't his fault.

It was Arthur's fault. His fault alone!


	5. The Lion's share

**5. The Lion's share **

"I do beg Your Majesty's pardon?" Angus Branguard thought he must've heard wrong. "Did you really say that we have to give up the Bodmin estate and title?"

Arthur rubbed his nose warily. "I think after all we've been through together I can be frank with you, My Lord Ravenclaw…" As usual the King chewed a bit on addressing someone other than Armand of Morgwyn by this title. Still, Armand had got his way and Angus had the Ravenclaw title now. The title and the vast estates and privileges that went with it. Market rights, tax rights for more than one merchant town, even a minting privilege.

"I should think so too" Angus said, sniffing with offence while he dusted an imagined speck of dust from his expensive coat. His younger brother Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"…and I'm grateful for the friendship and the trust that has grown between us…" Arthur continued patiently, keeping his conciliatory expression even as he was interrupted once more….

"Indeed" Angus huffed. "And may I thank Your Majesty for the honorary post of taking care of Princess Margaly during the recent crisis. In a precarious situation, my brother and I are always pleased to be of service to the Pendragons, even if the effort goes unpaid and unappreciated."

Arthur felt his muscles tense. Unpaid? The acknowledgement of the Branguard family fortune, the Saltyre fiefdom for Malcolm confirmed, the Ravenclaw property on top of everything. _**Unpaid**_?

Yet, hard as it was, the young King kept his tongue. The hint on 'a precarious situation' had been anything but subtle. Instead of being equally rude, Arthur went on as politely as before.

"As that is so I wanted to inform you of our decisions well in advance. Naturally Morgana and I had hoped that the Bodmin estate could go to your brother. However, that's not possible. One family can only get so much; that is the law of the land. To take over Bodmin, Malcolm must give up Saltyre and surely he doesn't want that."

There was, unfortunately, no reason at all why Malcolm should _not_ want to trade the smaller, less prosperous and less significant property and title for the more prestigious one, but it was one way to keep up appearances and honestly, Arthur could not think of any other.

"Your Majesty is absolutely right" the younger Branguard now said, and a mountain rolled off Pendragon's soul. "I have plans for the Saltyre estate and I would not want to see them abandoned."

Astonished, Angus turned to face his brother. "You wouldn't want to succeed me as Earl of Bodmin?"

"_As this would endanger what precious little stability we've managed to achieve, I dare say that Bodmin can rot for all I care_" Malcolm thought. "_If Arthur goes, we go to hell with him and __**all**__ our titles and lands are history, dear brother_!"

But as he knew that such ideas hardly ever came to his genuinely beloved but not especially bright sibling, he just smiled. "Indeed Angus, I would not."

Swiftly, so that Angus could not disturb negotiations further, the younger Branguard came back to the matter at hand. "And I dare say that a Pendragon King will not deny me the means to bring up Saltyre from its knees!"

"_What a charming way of saying that there's a bill to pay_" Arthur thought. "Which means….?" he said.

"Which means that the income from the annual great markets in Saltyre itself and at Ridgeway Castle should go to my coffers completely, including the usual Crown's share, for at least six years. Additionally I should like to see our military duties reduced; Saltyre should be obliged to supply the Crown with 200 armed men in case of war, not 300."

"With all due deference to your great and far reaching schemes dear Malcolm, I fear that we have plans for the whole realm's benefit, too. Especially for Camelot's safety. I'm afraid I must insist on the Saltyre war time obligation being fixed at 300 men, not one less. And surely you can do with a three years' lease of the income from the markets."

"300 men if you make that seven years and we will say no more of it."

"300 men and five years and not a day more!"

Malcolm cocked a brow. "300 is a great number of men for a poor estate."

Arthur smiled benevolently. "A five years' share in the markets' income is a great sum for a poor Crown."

The corners of Malcolm's mouth jerked upwards before he could hinder them. "Agreed" he said. "300 Saltyre men in case of war, heaven may spare us the trouble. In turn I can keep the full income from both markets for the duration of five years."

"I will make that official on tomorrow's Council meeting and the day after tomorrow it'll be part of the ceremony, you have my word." Arthur would have wanted to hug Malcolm; this had been much easier than he had feared.

"I take it that the Ravenclaw entitlements will not be altered?" Angus was no bright light on long-term strategies but when it came to more practical matters he knew quite well what was due to him.

Arthur bit his lip. Fleetingly he thought of Camelot's empty coffers, of the damages in the outlying villages, the necessary repairs to the battlements, the lack of men for every day duty and that many peasants and craftsmen still went hungry. Heavens, what he could do with the money the Ravenclaw estate made from mining rights alone…. Well, some things just weren't possible.

"Naturally" the King answered courteously. "I wouldn't dream to have it otherwise."

Angus beamed. Securing the Ravenclaw fortunes for his family had been his life's dream. He was in seventh heaven and more than willing to share his good fortune. "That means 1200 men in case of war for the royal troops and a pretty penny for the treasury as soon as I can reopen trade and workings that have been damaged in the latest turmoil."

"Your Lordship's graciousness is most appreciated" Arthur said warmheartedly and Malcolm gritted his teeth to hide his smirk. As long as one could still tell when a courtesy was only a courtesy and when it came directly from the royal heart, one could feel secure, much more secure than one had felt with Uther.

Unfortunately one could always trust Angus Branguard to spoil a perfect day. "There is, of course, the matter of Breckenridge Castle…." he said hesitatingly, and Arthur frowned. "_Enough is enough_" this frown said warningly.

"You should discuss that with the Queen, Angus" Malcolm intervened with all possible haste. "Breckenridge is part of her dowry rights."

"Dowry rights? What dowry rights? She isn't married, is she?"

"But she is Queen, is she not" Malcolm said, saving his King the trouble of finding patience where it was running out so very quickly. "What does it matter that the King is her brother, not her husband."

"My sister would be more than willing to discuss this triviality with Your Lordship directly. She is Mistress of her own fortune of course" Arthur took up the rescue rope where Malcolm had thrown it.

It was more than plain from his awkward face that Angus was imagining his upcoming discussion with Morgana. "Nnoo" he drawled after a while "I wouldn't want to incommode a great Lady about such a trifle."

"_Good Gods, if the mere mentioning of Morgana can earn the Crown an estate as prosperous as Breckenridge, I should mention her more often_" Arthur thought.

He clearly considered the discussion closed, and so Angus brought up the last issue on his list in haste and it blundered out accordingly. "Your Majesty still has to formalize our guardianship of Princess Margaly, just in case something happens to you during her minority."

The older Branguard's expression had hardened. He looked most determined and yet he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair as the King now rose slowly; his face being nothing less than predatory.

"Don't get this the wrong way, Arthur" Malcom came to Angus' rescue once more, in true fear for his brother's well being. "What Angus really meant was…"

"..to tell me what and what not I have to do on behalf of my own child!" Pendragon had his hand on his sword, and Malcolm felt sweat running down his spine. Damn Angus and his concept of negotiating! "Do I have Your Majesty's permission to speak openly?"

"As you've so far needed no permission to do so, by all means, proceed" Arthur replied acidly. "The risk is yours."

"We all hope for a save delivery of the Lady Guinivere's second child, but presently Princess Margaly is sole heir to the throne of Camelot. Forgive me for mentioning it, but even your father saw fit to issue an act of succession under guardianship for _your_ minority. Traditionally the guardianship is part of the Ravenclaw honorary entitlements. King Uther honoured this tradition and so did you, only a few days ago. Life is looking brighter now for sure, but honestly Arthur, could you vouch for Marke and the others staying loyal to you in future?"

As Arthur kept silent, Malcolm leaned forward for greater urgency. "Should Lot or Erec ever get hold of you _and_ your family, it would be a living hell. But if we Branguards had the guardianship, we could demand Margaly's _and_ your wife's release into our custody, no matter what happens to you and your sister. As he obviously wants to play this by the rules, Marke could do nothing to prevent it."

"My child has a mother. The guardianship goes with the regency; both are her privilege and nobody else's." Nothing in the King's face relented and still Malcolm knew from the fact that this conversation wasn't over yet that he had gotten through to him.

"Forgive me Sire, but whilst Queen Morgana is a force to be reckoned with, how long to do you think her former handmaiden would last in this snake pit that's called the Court of Camelot? Alone?"

Artur didn't even flinch at the word 'handmaiden'. "Then we would have to make sure that my wife wouldn't _be_ alone, would we not" he said coldly. "Just in case, of course."

"But we..."

"_One_ more interruption, My Lord Saltyre, and you and your brother will learn the respect due to your King in one of my deeper dungeons, and fuck all privileges of nobility! NOW. IS. THAT. CLEAR?

"Perfectly clear, Your Majesty" Malcolm pressed out, one hand firmly on Angus' arm to quieten him for dear life.

"Good. Just make sure you won't forget it again. As to your ….. request: tomorrow's Council will pass an act for succession under guardianship, just as you fancied it."

Saltyre relaxed visibly and Arthur smirked. "With some minor amendments, I'm afraid. If I'm dead or taken prisoner, the guardianship and the regency will go to my sister, if she's not able to take over, both go to my wife, with unlimited and unrestrained authority. You and your brother will be heads of the Crown Council; as such you'll be obliged to secure the Lady Guinivere's regency and my daughter's succession, on peril of losing everything you have. The knights' corps of Camelot will hold you to this obligation, just as it did by King Uther's order during my minority."

"Surely we could do without that last bit..." Angus said, appalled by the idea that the greatest family in the land should be answerable to a bunch of mere knights.

"Nothing of this is open to debate" Arthur interrupted him brusquely. "You'll accept or I'll make Sirs Leon and Elyan trustees of the guardianship."

"But that would effectively make us their subjects during a regency" Angus complained.

"Exactly! Naturally Your Lordships could always rely on my rude health and my ability to keep my enemies at bay. In this case we wouldn't need a settlement for the guardianship."

"Your Majesty has surely found the best of all possible solutions" Malcolm stated drily. "My brother and I will be honoured to accept your terms in tomorrow's Council."

"Well, that's settled then" Arthur said, at which both brothers took their clue - and a speedy good-bye.

Once outside, Angus shook his head in bewilderment. "Do you understand that? One might think he still distrusts us."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Malcolm retorted, clearly on edge. "Why should the King distrust you after you tried to plunder his treasury before you practically ordered him to deliver his daughter into your hands?"

"I did no such thing! I was perfectly in the right with my demands!"

"Angus, if Margaly were my child, I'd chopped off your head in there, without thinking twice."

Ignoring his brother's shocked face, Malcolm walked on and so they made their way through the castle, greeting people here and there, avoiding collisions with the bustling servants and all the time they kept their voices low.

"I had no intention of harming the child. What do you take me for? The guardianship must be settled, that's all" Angus stubbornly insisted.

"Well, it _is_ settled now, is it not." Malcolm was quivering with impatience and the aftermath of the tension he had felt. Had his brother any idea what he had _risked_ in there?

The elder Branguard saw the tale-telling signs and decided to give his little brother some peace. Usually, Malcolm's assessment of their situation was correct anyway. But other things were still too bad and he just _had_ to voice his anger. "I do not understand why you gave up Bodmin so easily, Malcolm."

Saltyre drew a deep, desperate breath to calm himself. "Angus, dear brother, let's be glad that the King did what he did, as I have no wish to become a Christian. Churches are expensive to build and even more expensive to run and think of all the rules I'd have to obey, at least in public."

"How does religion come into it?" Angus was genuinely confused now.

"Do you remember a man named Marke of Cornwall? Does that ring a bell with you?"

"Malcolm, I will not allow you to speak to me like that. I am your liege after all!" Angus thought that he had indulged his baby brother long enough now.

"Sorry, Angus. Please forgive me. It's just that these things are very complicated and they affect us and our future almost as much as they affect Arthur and his lot."

"They do?"

"Yes, Angus. They do." Malcolm looked at is brother despairingly. "Please let me explain it to you?" Only silently he added "_again_!"

"Go ahead" his brother replied.

"Arthur cannot ignore Marke's actual power, but he cannot treat him as an equal either, as Cornwall is traditionally a subject to the Camelot Crown. In the name of peace and mutual trust, Marke is prepared to take Cornwall as a fiefdom from Arthur, but he insists on documented rights and privileges for his church and faith in turn. Arthur is willing to grant that, but only in exchange for the Christians tolerating the rebuilding of the Old Religion. Can you follow my drift? Good."

Malcolm sighed impatiently before he continued. "Marke could live with that, but Erec can't, or so he claims, take that on his oh so very pious conscience. He has to be silenced before he can stir up trouble and for that Arthur needs land and titles, as he has got no cash to waste. There's also Lot, whose greedy hands must be filled. Now, fortunately Leodegrance died without an heir, but his estate is big and powerful, as it guards the most vulnerable part of Camelot's borders. So my bet is that it will go to Tristan, as an additional favour to Marke, and that leaves the Bodmin estate free to go to Erec. Understood?"

"I'm not an imbecile, you know." Angus's head swam but he could not admit that, could he.

"Surely you're not, Angus. So you do see Arthur's predicament?"

"How come you know all that?" Angus asked, piqued as always at being left in the dark while his younger brother had obviously been made a confidant in such sensitive matters.

"Young Merlin, our new unwilling advisor, came to me a few days ago, together with old Geoffrey. They explained some of it to me, doubtlessly to pave the way for Arthur and his suggestions. The rest I figured out myself."

"What rest?" Angus said, still peeved.

"If I were to become a Christian, I might be in Marke's good books but of what use would that be? If he were to turn against Arthur again, I'd be his sworn enemy, as good as you. With Marke and Erec throwing around their weight on their faith's behalf, we Branguards must be with the Old Religion, or we'll never have peace in Camelot. So I rather keep Saltyre, both of us in the King's good graces, and, most of all, away from the Queen's and the Lady Morgause's potential enemies."

"You mean, Erec will take on the High Priestess on these religious matters?"

"Morgause and our friend Morgwyn seem to think so."

"What gives you that idea?"

"They're here. They arrived last night. And the Lady is not happy, that much is certain."

"Oh dear."

"I couldn't have phrased it better, dear brother."

Angus thought it all over for a while. During lunching he was done with his thinking, as they were in the habit of lunching rather late. He found it all well and good as things had turned out and most of all he was glad that they had made their piles before Morgause and the Isle came into things. The Lady or the Queen – they both gave him the creep. And ever since he had finally understood who and what Armand of Morgwyn was, the man did too.

Really, how very lucky he was to have such a clever brother. Not that he'd ever tell Malcolm that, of course.

The more he thought about it, the better Angus' mood became, until he felt like chatting a bit.

"Won't the King be obliged to give some substantial rewards to his followers of the first hour, so to say?" He snorted sarcastically. "I wonder how long our liegemen and knights would stay if we didn't give them something for their troubles."

"There is talk that Erec will have to give up his old estate in order to get Bodmin. That would include the guardianship of Erec's ward Alaine, Sir …. Sir… whatever the name of her late father was. She'll inherit a vast fortune on her marriage. Naturally it can't be compared with our property but still – for a man with not a penny to his pocket she's a very good catch. And a cute little thing too. Blond, kind hearted, not too clever and a figure – divine is the word. A bit high-strung, though. But manageable."

"So Sir Leon will be the lucky fellow."

"No. He's got back his old estate and title, the one Uther deprived him of, and he's sure glad that he's out of this nasty business for good. I dare say he'd rather choose his own bride when the time comes. Some girl less beautiful but with more brains I shouldn't wonder."

"Then which one? As Arthur's brother in law, Elyan will surely find something more worthwhile than an arranged marriage? By the way, quite a career for a blacksmith's son."

Well mannered as they were they both kept silent about the career of the same blacksmith's daughter.

"I think Gwaine is going to have Erec's title and land as I have it on very good authority that the girl will go to somebody else" Malcolm replied.

"And who might that be?" Angus loved a juicy piece of gossip, although he'd never admit that either.

"It seems that our young King and his sister, between all their other trials and tribulations, have thought about an advantageous and very speedy marriage for another friend of theirs. Sir Lancelot is the chosen one and you know what?" Malcolm grinned merrily at his brother. "Nobody's told him so far."

Angus thought that through over the fifth course – mutton with fresh vegetables – and, naturally, he found a hair in the soup of this marriage, although it wasn't his to eat.

"Wouldn't that bring Sir Lancelot into Erec's wake?" he asked. "I mean, as Erec has surely brought up the girl in the Christian faith an' all and as she undoubtedly feels indebted to him? A woman can put the most peculiar ideas into a husband's head."

"Even better if Arthur can claim that one of his most trusted knights and followers is in the _new_ religion's camp. As I said before, big brother, it's all about the balance of power."

"Even so" Angus said musingly, chewing on his mutton. "If I were the King, I'd think twice about that." But then he shrugged carelessly. "Well, it should be all right I guess. Lancelot is Arthur's friend after all."

Malcolm's stomach fluttered a bit, as he suddenly remembered some evil gossip he had recently heard. Unsettled by the memory, the younger Branguard watched his sibling taking on his lunch in earnest now, visibly happy and completely content. "_Dear Angus_" Malcolm thought with sudden protectiveness. "_You're such a lovable, blind squirrel; let's hope you've not found the proverbial nut_."

**A/N: I admit this is mostly about politics. But I think that running a Kingdom must include some political issues :-)**

**I hope you'll like it anyway. Next chapter will be more about magic and - about what's going on between Morgause and Armand of Morgwyn. For the romantics among you and/or fans of a somewhat darker love story: the next chapter should be a chapter for you.**

**Nota Bene: I hope no one is insulted by the referrences to the Christian religion. This story is _not_ about religion but about people who abuse their power to satisfy their greed, even if this means to misuse religion, the knight's code or any part of common human decency. So this is not about Christianity, but about our friends from Camelot and some very evil villains and some other people who are caught in between.**

**I hope that makes things clearer. By the way: One other remark. Usually I do not have real villains in a story but people who go astray or lose focus on what they really want. But I think this 'Erec' person is going to be an exception of this rule. I hate him already.**

**Please enjoy and don't forget to use that review button!**


	6. Dark shadows rising

**A/N:**

**My very special and wholehearted thanks to all the people who put this story on their favourites' or alert list and to all the reviewers. You keep me going. A bear hug for Starzinmieyez, who reviewed but did not give me a reply link. Thanks a lot.**

**So, here's the next chapter, as promised about Morgause and Armand of Morgwyn. I hope you'll like it.**

**R&R please.**

**N. B.: I know the story is becoming darker and darker, the next chapter will also have a rather nasty content. But don't despair, there's still hope for Camelot and for our most favourite royal and warlock. It just takes some time in coming (he he he and other evil chuckles).**

**6. Dark shadows rising**

Morgause scrutinized her image in the vanity mirror thoroughly. She shouldn't look the same. Not when she had changed so much. Something fundamentally was different. Why the hell could she not put her finger on it?

As was her habit now – had been for a few months actually – she started digging into her own mind, her own memory, to find out what was nagging at her.

The beginning was clear enough.

Back on the Isle of the Blessed, as a child, she had made it through the ranks quickly and with an unchanging strategy: Know who you are, what you are, play it by the rules, be true to your friends, hate your enemies and don't ask too many questions.

For the rest of it, it had been learning, studying and practising, day in, day out.

Her magic had become a highly tuned instrument to be used to all possible ends, but during all the endless ceremonies, rituals, prayers she had never learnt anything spiritual. The outer form of the religious life had always been dutifully, conscientiously obeyed yet without real meaning.

The Priests that had brought her up had turned her into a living instrument to be used to their own ends, but nonetheless Morgause had not questioned her betters' wisdom or the traditions they followed. She had adopted it all and never ever asked why or what for. Because that had been what her foster parents and the others had expected of her.

And then came the day that made this centuries old world explode. The Isle had been brought to shambles, the Priests and Priestesses had been slain, the temples burned, the ancient books ripped apart and stamped into the dust. Uther had brought Morgause's whole universe to a standstill and all that had been good and beautiful had vanished from it.

As a 14 year old girl she had been staring at the gruesome massacre from a hiding place her foster mother had pushed her into at the last second before she was murdered. Paralysed by shock, silenced by disbelief Morgause had watched it all and understood nothing.

Afterwards she had been utterly deserted, had it not been for Nimueh taking her away to Doloreux until she reached the age of 21. After that, Nimueh had left, never to return.

Since then Morgause had lived as she had lived on the Blessed Isle, with all the rituals, with all the outer decorum that made no longer sense but to her was a the only piece of terra firma left in a sea of disorientation and emptiness.

On the way she had met her sister and found her a congenial soul, searching for a place and a purpose in life. As Morgause knew that there was only one worthwhile cause – the resurrection of the Isle and the Old Religion – she had recruited her sister without so much as one thought for Morgana's own wishes or dreams.

Together they would conquer all and do what had to be done. If that meant to murder Morgana's brother, destroy the innocent people of a realm whose King had never asked his people's leave before he destroyed the magical kind – so what? Collateral damages had to be accepted; this was knowledge as old as war, accepted by everyone. Well, except by the damaged of course, but who had ever cared about them as long as they weren't his own?

So far, so good.

During all these years, in all the loneliness, the fear, the long dark nights when the screams and the fires and the roaring, drunken soldiers came back to haunt her, Morgause had never doubted herself or her cause. She could remember how great it had felt to truly believe in oneself.

Then, things had changed again.

Of course she had not really been averse when Armand had shown her a way to better reach her objectives by using less violence.

Naturally that was much better than destroying Camelot, she had understood that, she was no monster after all. Besides, it was better for her sister that way, some instinct, not yet fully buried under indoctrination, had told her that much.

She had went on on her destined path, still unwavering in her self-confidence. She knew that much for a fact.

Until something unexpected had happened for which she had not been prepared.

She had won.

The life-long fight was over.

Armand had returned with her to the Isle of the Blessed and, looking at the ruins that had once been a home for both of them, he had asked her one single question:

"_What now, Morgause_?"

Three innocent words with the power to shatter her dream beyond recognition.

There she had been standing, victorious at all fronts, Uther dead and magic returned to Camelot.

But the Isle would not rebuild itself, her murdered foster parents, tutors and friends would not rise from their graves to welcome her home, Nimueh would not wait for her in her splendid quarters, to tell her what to do next - the past would not cease to exist just because Uther Pendragon had finally got what he deserved.

Morgause remembered, she had been scared stiff by the realization that she was no longer fourteen and that she could not start her former life anew where she had been forced out of it.

Now, sitting in one of Camelot's finest guest rooms, on the evening before a most momentous day, she still remembered how shocked she had been. It had left her trembling like a leaf in the wind. She had lost her way back then and she had yet to find it again. Her surety, her resolve – gone. She had felt so helpless, so terrifyingly alone.

In this moment Armand's strong, surprisingly warm and tender arms had embraced her from behind. "_Let me help you, My Lady. Yours is a burden no human being should be forced to carry alone_."

Spontaneously she had leaned back into this embrace, feeling that she would die if he left her to this horrifying loneliness again.

And he had begun talking, on and on, soothingly at first, then with more and more enthusiasm, about his ideas for the resurrection of what had been destroyed, for a 'New Old Religion' as he had called it laughingly. He had known what they would do, had known all the details and he had said that it would be a piece of cake to get their way.

In the same night they had become lovers. Under the star-pocked sky, in the grass, while it was all warm and cosy, Morgause had experienced, for the first time, what it meant to lie with another magician. Theirs had been more than a coming together of two bodies. His love making had filled her very soul and mind, until she had truly felt one with him, her own being melting into his until nothing in this world was of any importance any more.

In her life Morgause had fought for acceptance, recognition, power, sometimes for money when the situation called for it. But not for love. To love and be loved was not for her but for other women, like her sister who strove so hard to do without and needed it as urgently as air to breathe or water to drink.

As a Duke's daughter, a female warrior and a future High Priestess Morgause knew that it was her destiny to be feared, not loved.

Until this night under the stars among the shambles of a forlorn world.

It didn't matter that Armand was old enough to be her grandfather. For magicians of their class, age was a relative term anyway. Neither did it matter that she had once had strong reservations about his real loyalties and goals. Having lost the crutch that had kept her life together she virtually threw herself on the new support his strength and self-assurance gave her.

She looked at her image in the mirror again. Somewhere in this was the change. Somewhere in this was the reason for the alien but persistent feeling of inadequacy. Had she lost something that night? Had she gained something? What was left of the old Morgause and what was to expected of the new one, the foreigner, the complete stranger she was only beginning to explore?

A part of her knew she was making a mistake while another part clung to this mistake for all she was worth. She would not, _could_ not, give it up, this…. this…..love. However weird Armand's ideas sometimes sounded even to her biased ears, the feeling of his arms around her banished every second thought.

And it still did.

"Are you not yet coming to bed, darling?" Armand asked lovingly while he hugged her gently, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You must be well rested for tomorrow. You must give a perfect performance for the royal bunch and your Christian enemies."

"Tell me again why the Christians are my enemies" Morgause murmured. "They never did us any harm in the past. Marke asked for a dispute about our two faiths. I think his interest is genuine."

Abruptly Armand let go of her and instead of finding his pout childish she thought it utterly adorable. "My love, surely it is obvious. Their rise must mean your downfall. Camelot can only serve one master."

"Shouldn't one think that this master is the King and Queen of the land?" she insisted stubbornly, trying to banish the wish to be back in his embrace from her thoughts.

"My thoughts exactly, My Lady. That's why it is imperative that Camelot's Crown is bound to the Old Religion alone."

"So far the Crown has stayed neutral and surely that makes perfect sense."

"It is utter nonsense" Morgwyn reproached gently but insistently. "I mean, you as the Most Revered Lady cannot allow Albion to be formed and united by a King who does not know his duties."

"So far he has done nothing to neglect his duties. Besides, it was, correct me from wrong, _you_ who once told me that Arthur's cooperation was and is crucial for us."

"I" Armand cleared his throat "_**we**_ didn't make the young man King for him to coquet with some so called priests with childish hymns and some ridiculous rules of behaviour."

Morgause inhaled deeply. If Arthur was to be the strength in her back, she had to be his. So she shouldn't let this kind of talk go unpunished, she knew it, and yet she had it not in her to contradict Armand. Instead she took her refuge in reasoning with him, as always. "Our cause has not been deprived of anything by Arthur. The Branguards have made their confession to the Old Religion a public spectacle. They've made a considerable donation for the rebuilding of the temples and…."

"To your sister, not to us…." Armand raised his voice before he stopped himself. "Not to _you_, I mean. As by right they should have done. You _are_ the High Priestess after all"

"What does it matter? Morgana _is_ their Queen, and my sister."

"My Love, it is crucial that your importance is highlighted to the public at every possible opportunity. Like the name giving ceremony for Margaly tomorrow instead of the brat being christened, as Marke and Erec wanted her to be. Other than that, I do not give a fart for any rituals, as you well know …"

"Let's not argue again about the sense or nonsense of rituals, Armand. I know you despise them all. Christian or ours, it's all the same stupid superstition to you. I let you get away with this blasphemy because….."

"Oh, for the Gods' sake, let's not start that foolish argument again" he said angrily. "Must I remind Your Ladyship that, if anyone else on the Isle would know what she really is, you, by your own sacred old traditions, would be forced to have Morgana _executed_?"

It did the trick, as usual. Morgause shuddered. "You did shield this event in the forest from the others, did you not, Armand?"

"Yes I did. Nobody but Algernon knows that you have a Destroyer for a sister and who heeds what a Druid says? But in order to protect Morgana, you must assume absolute power, can't you see that?" Fleetingly he caressed her exposed neck with his knuckles and he saw the ripples of pleasure this caused with a satisfied smile. "No King or Queen, no Druids or Council of Elders to meddle in our affairs…" he muttered into her ear. "You and I will build a new Isle of the Blessed. Our will shall be the only law and then the Isle will stand forever. All Albion will do our bidding…."

Armand began kissing her neck passionately, then his tongue flickered down her spine in soft, fast movements that made her tremble while his hands pressed her shoulders before they wandered down her throat and deeper until she moaned and closed her eyes.

"Your Christian enemies know what this is about" he whispered, nibbling her earlobe. "It's an age-old question whether the Crown has power over religion or whether it is the other way round. You must not give in or all will be lost. Think of what would happen to everything we've achieved. Think of what would happen to Morgana."

"Armand, I do not want…."

"Sshhhh, my love, not now. We've much better things to do right now." His right hand made circles on her belly while the other pulled her gown away. "Come to bed, sweetheart."

She hardly knew how she got there while she kissed him hungrily. His hands and tongue were everywhere and she felt his magic's energy rising, ready to once more melt with hers.

As he penetrated her body, she let go of all restraint and her own energy flowed freely. Oblivious of all around them, she screamed softly when she drowned in his embrace, in what she believed to be boundless love and selfless care for her.

Afterwards she could hardly keep her eyes open. Relaxed and content, she smiled fondly with closed lids. "If I _were_ to assume absolute power, what would you do if I ever decided to get rid of you?" she said playfully, already half asleep.

He looked down on her, fondling her neck. "Sweet little witch" he muttered after a while. "So beautiful. So very brave. And so very foolish." Armand kissed her hair softly. "You will never get rid of me, my dear Lady. I'm not King Cendred."

He could see from her happy smile that she hadn't heard him. She was fast asleep when his hand closed over her tender throat and pressed down mockingly before he let go again. "_So easy_" he thought. "_Although it would be a crying shame_."

Like Arthur, she was everything he had expected her to be. Selfless, resolved and strong, but just weakened enough by her beliefs, her dreams and desires to be vulnerable to his manipulations. On such people's strife and sacrifices Armand knew he could build an empire of magic in Albion of which Morgause with her petty wish to see the past revived couldn't even dream.

It was annoying, though that of late the young King and Queen seemed to develop a will of their own. Arthur's resolve to have peace in Camelot at any cost was only part of it. Morgana's fierce determination was even more irritating. She actually thought that she and her young pet sorcerer Merlin – who would have thought it possible, blast the necklace trick for working far too well - were all the representatives of magic Camelot needed.

"_I trust that you are here for your piece of the big cake, only to vanish again into the mists of Avalon afterwards_?" she had asked the High Master on their arrival, smile and voice as sweet as honey but her eyes narrow and wary. "_Not that Arthur and I would mind a prolonged stay of my sister_."

Armand had blushed with anger and he still felt ashamed for it. "_The Most Revered Lady has come for the name giving ceremony of Princess Margaly. It is her prerogative_."

If possible, Morgana had smiled even sweeter. "_My brother and his wife have not yet decided if the child is to be christened or given her __name by the Old Religion_."

With an effort, the High Master had managed to smile back at her. "_With all due respect, that is not for Their Highnesses to decide. Only the High Priestess is to bless a royal child's entry into human and spiritual society_."

"_You will find my brother has strong views on what and what not he can decide for his own daughter_" she had answered. "_And frankly, as the girl's aunt, so have I_."

"_Meaning what?_"

"_Meaning that, if my brother so wishes, I can give the blessing or carry Margaly to the christening fond, it's all the same to me_."

"_How dare you…_."

"_I do not have to dare anything, High Master. I am the Queen here_."

"_The Isle's laws clearly state….."_

"_Look around you, Armand of Morgwyn"_ Morgana had said contemptuously "_this is Camelot. Back on the Isle you can do what you want but you no longer hold any jurisdiction here_."

He had gnarled at her loud enough to make Arthur turn and look at him, clearly alerted, forcing the sorcerer to lower his voice where he would have wanted to cry out loud. "_There may yet come a day when Camelot will need the power and protection only the Blessed Isle can give. Your Majesty might well remember that!"_

Morgana had grinned and even the High Master of the Old Religion had gasped when her aggressive power had brushed against his mind, hot, reckless, if only fleetingly. "_How kind of you to care so much, dearest Armand. But Merlin and I can fight off every possible threat."_

The Queen's grin had then become nothing less than venomous. She had left him stranded to greet her sister enthusiastically.

Nothing had really made up for that humiliation later on. Not the Branguards' spectacle and surely not Arthur's and Guinivere's lukewarm enthusiasm about Margaly having a traditional name giving ceremony.

And all the others had been so very high and mighty. Even now, days later, Armand remembered Erec's arrogant smirk and the disgusting self-assuredness in the faces of Marke and his accursed nephew Tristan. Oh, how he hated them all, them, their childish faith and all they stood for. Most of all he hated Algernon who now, with his seat on the Council, thought so very highly of himself that he needed to be taught a lesson soon.

Armand was still wide awake and lost in thoughts when they were wakened in the morning.

He had been impatient for her to wake up; there was so much he wanted to tell her, how to treat the others, what to say and what tactics were necessary.

However, the High Master was in for a surprise.

"I know what I'm doing, Armand" Morgause said irritably while she got ready for the ceremony. She had risen with the feeling that she was standing at a cross-road and that it was essential to remember that she had a will of her own. "And _I_ say that we should alienate neither Arthur nor Marke and his lot without due reason."

"My love, you're nervous, I understand that, but it is of the utmost importance that you stand firm. You must defend our position…"

The complicated gowns and robes that went with the rituals were heavy and uncomfortable enough to worsen her mood even more. "For the Gods' sake, nobody is threatening it right now. I will not start a new war while we all are still recovering from the last one. The Isle lacks people – Uther did a thorough job in extinguishing the magical kind. We're so hard pressed for skilled magicians, we couldn't populate even half of the original houses and estates of the Old Religion."

"But we…."

"This is final, Armand! I will no longer discuss it."

"_Who do you think you are, you little idiot_" Armand fumed silently. "_Without me you'd still be mopping in Doloreux, useless, insignificant_."

"_Please, my love_" Morgause thought. "_Why can't you see my point? It's too early for another struggle. You once told me that violence is not always the answer_."

She gritted her teeth when the desire to be hugged and caressed became overwhelming. In this second, a simple tousling of her hair would have been more welcome than all the sensual arts of the Far East.

Some of this silent plea showed in her face when she looked at him but it wasn't that which made him think twice before he answered. "As Your Ladyship wishes. But may I say that there is an easy remedy for our shortage of skilled magicians."

"I will the subject up, I promise, I know the Druids belong to us. Surely Arthur will see reason. Why should he refuse me? They're only peasants, after all, and we are his friends and allies."

She pecked a fast kiss on his cheek. "Wish me luck, Armand."

He forced a smile on his face and bowed to kiss her hand. "I have every confidence in you, My Lady."

He knew she was disappointed when she left him, disappointed and more than a bit hurt by his coldness.

And that was exactly how he wanted her to feel.

Nothing would keep him from getting what he had always wanted. His empire of the Old Religion would not fall prey to a mad King, nor to anybody else. Never again he would watch the centre of his life being destroyed; the new Isle would be a fortress, a stronghold, no fancy garden park for philosophical debates and idle games.

Armand had once sacrificed Angus Branguard's whole family and all their retainers to achieve his goal to become a Baron of Camelot. He had destroyed the life of an innocent woman, Agnes of Ravenclaw. He had hunted down his own kind, executed magicians, even close friends, with his own hands to earn Uther's trust. He had had sleepless nights about it all, more than he could count, his conscience had tormented him and most probably it would never let him rest.

But he had never yielded.

If his final objective was to be reached only over Morgause's broken heart, or even her dead body in the end – so be it.

He could survive that, too.

Like magic itself he would survive everything.


	7. A moment of peace?

**A/N: Do not get your hopes up, there's a reason for the question mark at the end of the headline.**

**Please, give me some reviews!  
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**7****. A moment of peace?**

"The four elements welcome you to this world, Margaly, daughter of Arthur and Guinivere."

Morgause raised the chalice she held in both hands over her head. When the sunlight came through the stained glass window in the perfect moment to make the jewels sparkle, she smiled. _Some_ God was with her today, that much was certain. "The spirit of water will give you purity of heart."

Margaly, lying before her on a sacred stone, watched the High Priestess with wide, fascinated eyes when the water in the chalice was slowly poured into a golden bowl with a bit of earth from the Isle of the Blessed in it.

Her parents, Morgana and most of the guests of the child's name giving ceremony were anxious to get it all over with, as the ritual had given cause for many a turbulent debate. Debates between all concerned and some people who much better had concerned themselves with their own affairs.

Oblivious of it all, the young Princess was having the time of her life. Margaly gurgled, laughed and whooped with joy until everybody smiled, even those who didn't want to.

"The spirit of earth will give you firmness of the heart" the Priestess intonated while she smeared a bit of the mud on the child's forehead before she held her hand over the flickering candle at her side. "The spirit of fire will give you courage of the heart." Guinivere winced when the child's little paw came a bit too close to the flame for her taste, but all went well.

A gentle kiss and blow on the child's face completed this part of the ritual. "The spirit of the free air will be the Great Mother's breath and blessing on you, to let your heart know freedom and joy through all your life."

Morgause now faced the assembly and fought for a solemn face, as the baby chose this exact moment to laugh again. "_At least someone is enjoying herself thoroughly during my first official ceremony_" the High Priestess thought.

"I call you, Margaly, into this world as a child of the Goddess, a sister to your fellow humans and a friend of the nature from which you come and to which you one day will return when the circle of life will be fulfilled."

A last time Morgause softly laid her hands on the little girl's chest. "You have a name now, which the Great Mother and all things living know to call you by. May you answer to every call in dignity and joy for as long as you live."

When her sister nodded, Morgana took the child and gave her back to her mother, who had been fretting to have her daughter back through the whole ceremony.

It was no secret that Guinivere presently wished herself, her husband and her daughter miles away from all quarrels that, due to Arthur's wise, conciliatory attitude and with the support of Morgana's well-placed, unmistakable and heartfelt threats, abated slowly. Much too slowly for Guinivere's taste and she was not the only one. Margaly's mother had the knights' full approval for her Cri de Coeur that she'd rather have the old days back, when a fight was decided by a sword, not by false words and hidden agendas. Her husband had, wisely again, abstained from commenting on that, at least in public.

Comforted by the fact that Margaly was safe and sound and hers again, Gwen found it in her to smile and invite everybody most graciously to eat and feast with the Court in honour of the Princess Margaly and her official entry in this world.

As the little girl's first birthday was close, it was perhaps a little late for that. But, better late than never, and, as Gwaine had aptly put it, it was always good to have a party with lots to eat and even more to drink to calm hostile spirits.

Arthur looked over the whole assembly and didn't trust his eyes. It was a surreal feeling, to see these squabblers of many months sitting peacefully side by side. Even Armand's and Erec's faces, both bitter as gall from the day they'd arrived, seemed to relax after a while.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself" Merlin whispered into the King's ear from behind. "Prat!"

"That's lèse Majesté and constitutes High Treason, don't you know that?"

"If a simple truth is treason in Camelot now, we might as well go back to the old days."

"What, with you in the stocks?"

"And with you never really coming out of the woods" the brazen warlock said equivocally.

Arthur snorted with laughter and covered his faux pas with a quick cough. "And now I am, even in your most critical opinion, out of the woods?"

"Seems like it. They're all stuffing their faces, no one has killed another so far _and_ you've made it up with your wife. I must have grossly underrated you."

"Thank you, My Lord Emrys" Arthur made a courteous little bow.

"Your Majesty is most welcome" the warlock returned the mock courtesy and wanted to leave when Arthur stopped him.

"Merlin, apropos woods – my sister and you. Is it true what I hear?"

From the look on Arthur's face as well as from the mortifying heat in his cheeks Merlin knew that danger was all around him. "What…. What do you mean?"

"Algernon says you're laying waste to my finest forest grounds. The Goddess' curse would come upon you and what not. He's beside himself and I'm clueless as to what he's talking about."

"Forget it then" Merlin said awkwardly. "You're the King, can't you forget what you like?" Inwardly he cursed Algernon and his superstitious nonsense to the deepest hell. How could the Druid dare to molest Arthur with that, after Merlin had told him to forget about these stupid Destroyer legends?

"Merlin, he threatened to bring it up in the Council and I would not wish to publicly look like a fool."

"People are used to you looking the part."

Arthur frowned in the 'I'm–no-longer-amused-by-your-stupid-jokes' way the wizard had come to respect. This expression on, the King meant business. "Whatever it is you two are doing to the poor sweet bunnies and the robin's little ones, it has to stop, all right _Mer_lin?"

"Yes, Your Majesty" the warlock surrendered most humbly. But naturally, this wasn't the end of it. A wizard with some sense of honour and self-regard could not leave the last word to the royal prat, now could he? "But what shall poor little me do if Her Majesty is not of Your Majesty's opinion? You both outrank me."

Arthur chuckled viciously. "From what she's told me, Morgana has made other plans anyway."

Suddenly Merlin's heart was in his mouth. He almost dropped the tankard he was holding, for this was so terribly, terribly painful.

He had always known that one day Morgana would find herself a suitable partner, some high ranking noble or a future High Master perhaps. But to actually _live_ through it – that was a different kettle of fish. One that made him sick to death.

Hell, if that was how love made him feel, first with Freya, now with the Queen, he could do without, thank you very much. Then and there Merlin made a silent vow to uphold lifelong chastity. Not that he had had great opportunities so far to… Never mind!

Merlin would have liked to giggle about his own stupid thoughts but for once the trick that had helped him so very often through painful experiences didn't work. "I see" he said sadly and all he wanted to do was trotting to some quiet place and die.

"She wants to meet you in the forest, she's said, tomorrow night" Arthur replied quickly, as he saw Marke approaching.

"What? Who?"

"The cat's mother of course. Don't play daft, Merlin, my _sister_. Her Majesty the Queen."

Now Merlin was really confused. "But you said… What the hell for?"

Arthur sighed, his signature reaction in certain situations, saying 'heaven-give-me-patience-he's-an-idiot-but-he-can't-help-it'.

"You've led a very sheltered life, Merlin, I know that. But as you are a creature of magic, at least that's what Gaius tells me, I still say you're deranged, even you should know that we'll celebrate Beltane tomorrow."

"Beltane."

"Yes, Beltane. And with the rites of the Old Religion. Even in the forests. _Especially_ in the forests. Doesn't that ring a bell with you?"

"No!"

Arthur had trouble suppressing his laughter. "You'll better be there or she'll come and drag you." The King sat up and smiled radiantly. "My Lord Duke, what a pleasure to see you."

Marke bowed and as he monopolized the King immediately Merlin was left alone with his thoughts. Furtively he looked at Morgana, but she was happily chatting away with Tristan, of all people, who looked a bit doubtful because of the honour.

"_Well, that makes two of us_" the wizard thought irritably. But the anger faded quickly and the hurt came back with a vengeance. "_Maybe she wants to tell me herself that she no longer can meet me alone. That must be it. Well, that's something, isn't it?_"

With what preciously meagre comfort he could draw from that, Merlin sneaked away from the feast and hid in his old quarters, in his old bed, under his old blanket to feel sheepish, idiotic and like cutting someone's throat at the same time. Preferably his own.

That was where and how Gaius found him. "What's wrong with you, are you mad? The King has people looking for you all over the place. He's so worried; he's biting everyone's head off."

"Serves him right" Merlin's muffled voice came from somewhere underneath the sheets. "Serves them all right."

"What are you talking about? The first peaceful, happy day in the Gods may know how many months and you must spoil it for Arthur? What _were_ you thinking?"

"That's all you care about, isn't it?" Merlin shot out of his bed like a jack-in-the-box. A very angry Jack-in-the-box. "What Arthur wants and what Morgana wants and what anybody else wants. Who cares about what _I_ want? Nobody. Oh, look, it's just stupid Merlin who's got his little heart broken. Never mind, he'll get over it, he always does."

"Merlin, what…."

"You know what, Gaius? They can all get lost as far as I'm concerned. I don't need them. I could have a better life anywhere else, if I wanted, everyday. Why should I stay? Nobody wants me, nobody appreciates me, they all laugh behind my back."

The healer for one forgot to laugh at the sight of the flushed face and the gleaming eyes. "My boy, please…."

"Now that I've done my bit, I can as well drown myself in the lake for all they care" the wizard raged on. "I bet they wouldn't even notice I'm gone."

"STOP IT, MERLIN!" Gaius took his refuge to sternness. "How dare you talk such nonsense?"

"Oh, great, you've found him" Gwaine said from the door in exactly the same moment, the worried expression that went so badly with his movable, usually merry features vanishing at the sight of the warlock. "We were worried about you, Merlin…."

"No you were not. It's just that the precious royalty has not got their way, that's all. And from now on they won't, I tell you, they won't. I will _not_ go to the forest tomorrow and that's final!"

Gwaine looked helplessly at Gaius, who was, a rare problem for him, completely lost for words.

"Merlin, come, we go to the tavern, have a pint of ale and then you can tell me all about it…." Gwaine tried to brighten the situation but he stood no chance.

"Oh, leave me alone!"

The knight was almost pushed against the door when Merlin swept by him at top speed and vanished somewhere outside. "What the hell…?

"Must be lovelornness" Gaius sighed. "I've seen it coming. What a mad idea from the start, Merlin and…." He stopped himself.

"Merlin? In love? With whom? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Gwaine, leave it well enough alone. Sooner or later this had to go awry. Maybe it's for the best it happened now."

No matter what the knight tried, that was all he could get out of the old man and finally Gaius chucked him out with the strict order to tell Arthur that Merlin had taken to his bed with stomach ache.

Unfortunately, Gwaine had no chance to deliver his message to the rightful recipient, as he ran into the Queen first. "Where's Merlin?"

As always when being close to the Queen, even Gwaine suddenly remembered his once impeccable education and manners. "I couldn't say, You Majesty!"

"But if he's not with my brother, he's with you. You're almost inseparable. What happened?"

"He… he's got a stomach ache and has taken to his bed, My Lady."

"But he wasn't in his room, I checked it."

"Yes, he… Gaius thought it best to give him another room. A quieter one."

"So Merlin felt badly after he had spoken to my brother?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Exactly." Gaius would be proud of him, Gwaine thought. It wasn't easy to fool this woman and he had done so at the first push. "I was on my way to inform Arth…. His Majesty the King."

"Leave that to me!" Morgana ordered and the next instant saw her walking down the corridor with long, angry strides. The two guards at Arthur's door had no chance whatsoever to announce her, as she banged the door open and stormed inside. "What the hell have you said to Merlin, Arthur…?"

For the next thirty minutes or so the two seasoned soldiers were busy looking straight ahead, pretending that they were completely deaf. They were so very successful that they forgot to take cover when Her Majesty, still more than a bit aggravated, stormed out again, her brother's roaring laughter in her back doing nothing to calm her.

"What are you gawking at? Would you feel much better if you'd guard the cesspool for the next few weeks?"

"No, Your Grace, surely not."

"Then shut your mouths before I do it for you!"

And gone she was.

The two men looked at each other. "You know" the one said "I've always thought the boy is a bit of an innocent. Never understood none of me jokes, that wizard-fellow did."

"Will be some Beltane" the other replied laconically. "At least for young Merlin. She's hell bent on having her way."

"She's a handful, that's for sure" was the answer to that, spoken in a wistful tone. "But, hell, isn't the boy a lucky fellow. Gods, what a woman."

"Who, the Queen?"

"No, your grandmother you daffy. O'course I'm speaking of our Queen."

The other pondered that at great length. Finally he said "didn't you say you'd go to the forest with Bessy from the kitchen?"

"Yeah! Like you an' Geenie from the smithy."

"She's a nice one, our Bessy. Not very fresh, I reckon, but then she knows what's what. You better stick to her. I'll cut your guts open if you play foul with her! She's my cousin around some corners."

"Hush your mouth, idiot."

"Have you nothing better to do than idle gossiping?" Arthur's angry question startled the two and Bessy's cousin let his lance fall to the ground.

As a result, they both received stern instructions not to go anywhere near forest or girls for the next few weeks and that was that.

So much for peace and joy in Camelot.

Luckily for the two, Arthur thought better of it after a while.

For Bessy's and Geenie's sake; for the unexpected easiness and enthusiasm with which the people welcomed the comeback of the Old Religion's rites and most of all for a word that had touched Arthur to the quick, albeit positively. "_Our Queen_" the man had said. "_**Our**__ Queen_."

"You know what, sweetheart?" the King said to his wife. "We've come home at last."

"And it took Your Majesty almost six months to notice that?"

"No, not me. Some others. But now they have noticed it."

"Your Grace is speaking in riddles."

"Doesn't matter. All shall be well, isn't that something?"

"Yes, my love" Gwen said with heartfelt conviction. "Yes that is all I'll ever need."

As was his habit Arthur rubbed his nose at her neck and she sighed contentedly as suddenly a thought struck her. "What was Morgana talking about earlier? She seemed so angry."

"We aren't the only turtle-doves in Camelot."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that my Lady Sister has used me, the King of Camelot no less, as her postillon d'amour, and that the young man in question has got it all wrong."

Guinivere darted around. This wasn't funny. "Merlin? Morgana and Merlin? Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

"But she can't….. you can't…. What will people say?"

"The same they're saying about us, my love. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I cannot deny my sister what I've granted myself when I married you. Besides, Morgana does as she pleases, with or without my permission."

"She's at least six years his senior!"

"That's for them to concern themselves about, is it not?" Carelessly, Arthur began nibbling her ear.

"What will the Christians say? They're frowning on you allowing the old Beltane rites back into Camelot as it is."

"They can frown all they like. They've got their churches and their feasts and our permission to do whatever they please, as long as nobody is forced or pressed into something he doesn't want. Morgause and Armand almost slaughtered me when I told them that this is the law now. In return, Marke and his bunch must tolerate that the Old Religion enjoys the same rights and there's an end to it."

Guinivere snuggled up to him and he thought that the discussion was over. However, that was not the case.

Although Guinivere was almost strangled by apprehension, she could not keep her worries to herself. This was about her kids and nothing, not even her fragile peace with her husband whom she loved with every fibre of her soul, could be more important than that.

"Arthur, if Morgana were to have a child, what would that mean?"

The King moaned impatiently and rolled away from her. "Well, it would be a girl or a boy, would it not?"

"No, seriously. Politically I mean. For the succession. You two are King and Queen in your own right respectively. It must mean something."

"What on earth are you talking about now?" Arthur growled angrily. "Damn it, you never were interested in titles or fortunes before, where does this greed come from?"

"It has nothing to do with greed!" To her own humiliating surprise, Gwen felt tears springing to her eyes. How could he dare suspecting her of trying to use her marriage for her own selfish gain? "I just think that…. if anyone ever said that our children aren't legitimate …nobody will ever doubt that _her_ kids are your father's grandchildren….."

"To hell with it, is there no peace from you, woman!" Gwen winced when he darted upwards to face her, anger in full flight. "I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, both Margaly and the one that's in your belly now are mine, always were and always will be. Nobody will ever doubt that."

Arthur saw her terrified face and forced himself to keep calm as best he could. She had been torturing herself with such thoughts from the day they had made it up with each other and he had no idea how to stop the torment she inflicted on herself. No idea but to give her the same assurances over and over again.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I will always love you. It was my fault. I had no right to drink that poison and leave you alone. But it's all over and forgotten, it's all in the past now. Please. You must get that into your head!"

"But Lancelot knows. Who says he will keep quiet about it?"

"Lance will leave us after the wedding. He stands to lose a lot should he spill the beans. If Erec knew… Besides, in spite of everything, Lance wouldn't get so very low."

"What about Merlin?"

Aghast, Arthur let go of her shoulders. "You can't be serious!"

"But Morgana's children, next in line to the throne, would be _his_ children. Doesn't it even occur to you what that could mean? If the bastard of a sorcerer and the sister of the High Priestess would ascend to the throne, how long do you think Camelot would last?"

She stared at her husband, her face a bitter grimace. "The knights, armed but powerless against magic, the nobility the same, the Christians feeling threatened in their very existence, the Druids fearing for their children whilst the Isle rules unlimited, unrestrained, how long do you think Camelot would last?"

Arthur swallowed hard. He'd never looked at it that way. He was absolutely sure that these dangers were not real, that neither his sister nor his best and closest friend would ever do a thing like that. But how to put this in words strong enough to convince someone who didn't want to be convinced? "Morgana loves Margaly, darling. Surely you must see that. She adores our child."

"So far she hasn't got one of her own!"

"What difference would it make?"

"Heavens Arthur, it would make a world of difference. Your father thought Margaly is not your child, many people know that. And our second one may _be_ Lance's child. I know the mess is my fault but I will not see the children suffer for it. What if somebody talks and my children are bastardized? If Morgana had a child, people had free choice!"

He kept silent for a while. As always the reminder of her betrayal hurt much more than he cared to admit. More than anything the thought that Lance must have something he lacked was mortifying. What he had said to Merlin in the forest still rang through his mind frequently "_I'm not such a great catch after all_." Bladt it, there were moments, when he was alone, in which he thought that he'd never be able to hold the child she would bear, let alone love the damn thing, as he had promised he would.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

Gwen tried to control her voice. She took his hand, wishing nothing more than to show him that this was not about their marriage, not about Arthur and Guinivere, but about the children, only about them. "I want our second child to be christened, in a church, with Marke and Erec being godfathers. I want a new act of succession, vesting the right of succession in _our_ kids alone. I want all the nobility to swear an oath that they will protect this act. And I want the regency rights for our second child's minority for me and my brother."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"You realize that the Queen would have to ratify that. Do you have any idea how much this scheme would hurt her? It stinks of the contempt and distrust you feel for her and all she stands for."

"You could always tell her it is for the good of the realm, for better balance between the religions."

"She will still know it to come from you."

"I'll have to live with that, won't I. She's hated me before. She tried to kill me. And you."

Arthur closed his eyes. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he was caught in the past as if it was a swamp, sucking him down, inch by inch. In spite of the swamp's soil being putrid and vile, sometimes a bit of love, trust and hope may emerge but the old hatred Uther had once created would still prevail in the end, drowning it, crushing it.

One way or the other, the swamp would _always_ win.

"You're making a mistake, Guinivere."

"I have made my mistake months ago. As you've made yours. We both have to cut our losses."

Softly he pulled his hand out of hers. "All right. If that is what you want, I'll talk to Morgana. It'll come to no good but I'll talk to her."

"Thanks, Arthur." Gwen looked at him hesitatingly. "Please, do not get me wrong" she tried to explain what could not be explained. "I love you very much, more than my own life. But this is important, please, you must see that."

"_Uther's words_" Arthur thought, a deadly, ice cold rage building up in him, all the more horrifying as it was absolutely calm. "_I love you my son, more than my life. No matter what happens, nothing will ever change that._" And then Branguard had come, and Devil's Claw and finally a traitor's punishment.

Arthur's hand went to his chest, to touch the burn mark there. Some love that had been. Worth a shit. But then, obviously some people were like that.

"Arthur, if you do not want that….." Gwen said, a diffuse feeling that the ground was shaking under her feet urging her. "Couldn't you ask Merlin if he'd like to go away for a while? Maybe he'd like to spend some time with the Druids or even on the Isle. He _is_ a warlock; wouldn't he want to study magic more closely, be with his own kind so to speak…" she waited for an answer that didn't come.

She waited until she couldn't stand it anymore. "Wouldn't you rather do that?"

"_You would like that, wouldn't you_?" Arthur thought spontaneously. "_My one and only true friend!_" And suddenly, for the very first time since he had realized what and why it had happened between her and Lance, the sense of his own guilt gave way to a better sense of hers. If she, above all the sacrifices he had already made, demanded _this_ of him, _**she**_ was overstepping the mark.

Arthur inhaled deeply, knowing that this single word could very well destroy his marriage: "No!"

The peace between them, so vulnerable, so very depending on nourishment and support, was demolished in an instant and a very precious part of Guinivere died inside her. That was what she had expected of him, what she had feared. So he _was_ like his father. She couldn't trust him with her kids, especially not with the one yet to be born.

Some words spoken, others left unsaid. Wrong, all of them, and it resulted in silence. They lay side by side for the rest of the night and felt the gap between them widen until it seemed capable of hosting an ocean full of very bitter, salty water. Just like the moisture on their faces when they turned their backs on each other.


	8. The things we do to no avail

**8****. The things we do to no avail**

Merlin had finally found himself a quiet spot, something that bordered on the miraculous in the busy castle. On the top floor of the citadel's highest tower, reachable only via an endless flight of steep stairs, he could pout and rage and rant or cry (no of course not, naturally he would _not_ cry) to his heart's desire.

He could watch the deep, dark clouds racing over the sky, listen to the howling breeze and forget about mankind for a while.

At least that was what he had thought, as, to his devastating disappointment, the place was already taken. In spite of the roaring wind, the cold and the rain coming in through the unglazed windows, somebody else had sought refuge here from worse torment than the weather could cause.

A male figure rose slowly on his entry and with a start he recognized Lance's haggard face. "Merlin! I'm sorry… I…. must have dozed off."

"Oh, never mind" the wizard said sheepishly. "What… are you doing here? I thought you'd be with your fiancée?"

Merlin flinched when Lance snorted derisively. "My fiancée. Yeah. Great idea."

"But you two are going to be married." The warlock was appalled by the expression on Lance's features. Dislike. Disgust. Almost hatred.

"Merlin, I've ruined my life. And I'm going to ruin hers." The knight pressed his head between both his raised arms as if he wanted to press something out. With a jolt the warlock realized that his friend was drunk.

"I've dreamt my whole life to become a knight, a Knight of Camelot" Lancelot continued despairingly "I had a place here, and friends, people I belonged to. It's all gone now."

As usual, another's grief and sorrow made the young wizard shove his own to the back of his mind. "You mean…..because of you and Gwen?" he asked tentatively.

"You know?"

"Yes. Some of it. And – it's over?"

"What do you think? Of course it's over. What would you think our dear King has arranged my marriage for?"

Merlin didn't like the sound of the 'dear King', but he let it go. "And Gwen?"

"She chucked me out like a piece of dirt!"

"_Thank heaven!_" Merlin thought but he could hardly say that. "Maybe it was for the best" he said instead. "For both of you."

"Naturally you'd say that. You and your precious Arthur."

"You once said that she belonged to him" Merlin reminded the knight, aggravated now. "You said you wouldn't interfere. I gave her your message and she thought herself free of any obligation to you. She thought you gone, never to return."

"_You_ called me back when your royal friend's arse needed rescuing."

"As you said, you'd always dreamt about having a place here. Letters, more than I can count, you've written to me about that special subject. Arthur has given you that place, against his father's express wishes." Merlin drew a deep breath. "One might say you've betrayed his trust. Uther would've liked that."

"I should've known there's no talking to you" Lance muttered irritably and tried to leave the tower's platform but Merlin held him by the arm. "What are you going to do now?"

"What can I do?" Lance exploded, tears of anger sparkling in his eyes. "Gather up the shards of my old life and try to put them together to make a new one. That's what I did when my parents were killed."

"By marrying a woman you do not love? What about Alaine, Lance? Doesn't she count?"

However, the window to Lance's soul had closed silently. Gone were the remorse and the despair. Instead embitterment and mortification made the young warrior boast and puff up in sheer emotional self-defence. "Alaine's such a sweet little idiot. She thinks she's madly in love with me."

"That doesn't answer my question! Do you or do you not love her?"

"The emotion is most overrated. Believe me Merlin, I know it first hand, love's sweet dream leaves a bitter taste in your mouth."

The warlock winced. Didn't he know _that_ for a fact! His own troubles rushed back to his mind with a vengeance and he trembled slightly.

Lance saw the other man cast down his eyes and blush, and the knight grinned cruelly. "Alaine has a lot to offer for the likes of me, a fortune, an ancient name, great connections and she doesn't expect much. She's an ideal choice under the circumstances, I grant Arthur that."

"She would expect some common decency as much as the rest of us" Merlin replied softly, still caught up in his own predicament.

"You're a dreamer, Merlin, as I once was."

The warlock shrugged. "Perhaps. But then, maybe I prefer it." He looked at Lance's face and shook his head. The young knight had changed so horridly. He could have been a stranger, and not a very likeable one. "This new life of yours, how will it be, Lance? Without your dream, without love, no passion singing in your blood but avarice, how will it be?"

"Enriching" Lance said with acid irony. "When all the nice and sweet things are said and done, that's what counts in the end."

"You don't mean that. You're betraying yourself because you think it protects you from being hurt again, but it won't wash, Lance."

"Spare me the sanctimonious speeches. There's more to life than Camelot. There are other places, other beliefs and other virtues to explore, far beyond your imagination. Erec has told me about Christianity, how it's spreading in the world, growing and thriving. Kings and Princes are bowing their knee to it, Emperors even. It's the future, Merlin, the future. Who cares about the Old Religion and its childish superstitions?"

"The Old Religion is the very essence of nature, it's as ancient as Earth itself" the wizard repeated what he had once heard from Khilgarrah. "So you may well say that it is old and from the past. But as long as you do not have another Earth in your backpack so that you can do without the old one, how can you leave it behind?"

"It's power I'm talking about, power to change things, power to make the world change it's turn."

"Do you really think that's what this carpenter in Jerusalem gave his life for; your dreams of power, riches and your petty revenge?" Merlin unwittingly radiated his anger and Lance stepped back instinctively. But the wizard wasn't done yet. "Slaves and wretches and sinners were among the first Christians, not just rich men and virtuous women. For them he lived and for them he died. Where's that kind of human understanding in your new dream, Sir Lancelot du Lac? Where?"

"Oh, what do you know?" Lance murmured angrily. "You're just a peasant boy, blinded by his affection for a King who's nothing but a lie!"

"The Lance that I once knew would never have said that."

"The Lance that you once knew is dead!"

Merlin winced violently and looked away, as if _he_ were embarrassed by the other man's shame. For it _was_ shame in this, more shame than real wrath.

Lance nodded, as if a suspicion had been confirmed, and turned away to leave, but then he hesitated. "Look, Merlin" he said after a while "nothing of this is your fault. We were friends once. For the sake of old times, let's not part on a bad note, aye?"

"As you said, the Lance that was my friend is dead. With you, I have no dealings. As to Camelot and the Pendragons, you know where I stand."

The knight rubbed his nose and for an instant it was as if he wept; and not for anger this time. "Yes, I know" he said. "Farewell then, Merlin. I'm sorry it all came to that."

The warlock nodded curtly and Lancelot knew he was dismissed. Sometimes sweet gentle Merlin could be as regal as his royal friend and in such moments there was no refusing him.

His foot already on the stair's first step, some last curiosity hit him and Lance craned his head back. "By the way, what did you come for?"

Merlin looked at the sky. "It had nothing to do with you. Someone has asked me for a walk in the forest tomorrow and I'm not sure I wanna go."

"A girl?"

"Yes."

"Take my advice, stay away from her. They're all bitches!"

"Perhaps" the warlock shrugged again. "Farewell, Lance!"

Hearing Lance's footsteps descending on the stairs, Merlin bent over the balustrade. He felt a bit sick and more than a bit sad. From where this friendship had started, nothing had prepared him for this awful day.

But he had other cares to think about. Would he meet Morgana tomorrow to fight it out with her eye to eye or wouldn't he?

It should have been such an easy question to answer, yet it wasn't.

Sometimes Merlin found it very hard to be the perfectly selfless, perfectly innocent and lovable boy in the play. Who had died and decided that that was the part he had to play to all eternity? He was a man too, Gods damn it, he had pride and self-esteem, and his feelings could get hurt. And presently he felt neglected, unappreciated, abandoned and very painfully kicked in the ass, on top of being jealous enough to freak out any moment.

Now he could nail himself to the pretty cross this made – whether this solution would be one of selflessness or self-pity he had yet to decide – or, like Arthur, he could face it and fight his way through.

Finally, after hours and hours of thinking, miffing and sympathizing with his own misery – as presently there was nobody else who'd sympathized – his decision stood firm.

He would _not_ grace Morgana with another opportunity to hurt and humiliate him. He would _not_ go to the forest and wait for her like an obedient lapdog. No, Sir. He would just go on with his life as if nothing had happened and give her the go-by, the silent treatment.

Doubtlessly she would beg him eventually. Ask his forgiveness. Ask him to be friends with her again. But he would _not_ give in. Queen or no Queen, she would have to learn she couldn't treat him like that and get away with it unpunished.

Very satisfied with himself, he climbed down the stairs and searched for Gaius and Gwaine, to make some overdue apologies.

Poor Merlin. If Khilgarrah had been there instead of pacing restlessly in his far away refuge, torn apart between the wish to let a newly shaped destiny enfold itself alone and the urge to run to their aid, he would doubtlessly have said exactly that.

Poor hapless young warlock.

So great and emphatic when it came to other people's bad luck and misunderstandings and yet as blind and foolish as the next man when it came to his own.

Forcing a merry smile to his face, Merlin held fast to his resolve, although it hurt like hell, while the object of his jealous spite had no idea whatsoever that anything was amiss.

Instead the Queen was in a brilliant mood when her brother searched her out on the next morning.

"Morgana, I must talk to you."

"Hurry up, Morgause will open the festival in an hour and I can't find my lace shawl."

"I…. It's about you and Merlin, actually. I think…. That is, Guinivere and I think…."

"That I should be more discreet?" Morgana turned away from the mirror to face her awkward brother. "Really, Arthur, don't be childish. I'm a grown up woman, I can do what I want." She scrutinized him. "I hope Marke's ideas of virtue and chastity have not rubbed off on you?"

"No, it's not that, it's..." Arthur was writhing pitifully. Give His Majesty a room full of hostile noblemen or a gathering of angered citizens and he could be a master of tact and diplomacy. But not with someone who was close to his heart. So Arthur did what he always did when he was lost for a better solution; he blurted it out as it came to his mind, crudely and rashly and without any consideration at all.

"Should you get pregnant the succession must be reconsidered. I – we – have some ideas but I'm not sure you'll like them."

Morgana stood thunderstruck, her eyes almost growing out of their sockets. "I do beg Your Majesty's pardon, but are you _mad_?"

"No, I…. blast it, Morgana these things _must_ be addressed. They're important. We may _seem_ to be secured, but our life still is a casket of oil with a burning torch hanging over it. If something happens to me or you tomorrow or next year and the succession is not regulated by law, what do you think would happen?"

The Queen lost her frown and, with some effort, bit back an amused grin. "This is coming from Gwen, is it not? Now that your second one is under way, the evil gossip is harder to ignore. Is that it?"

"Gossip? What gossip?" As if he did not know.

"That she once told our father that Margaly is not your child and some people claim to have seen her being a bit too familiar with one of your knights before we came back to Camelot. It's all absurd and ridiculous of course, but people count the months after hearing such rumours, little brother. Gwen has every right to be concerned."

She saw Arthur pale and hugged him spontaneously. "You're such a great King little brother, how can you be such a baby sometimes?" Morgana chuckled when she felt him flinch in anger. "Arthur, did you really think you could marry a handmaiden without people wagging their tongues in the most vicious way possible?"

"Whom I marry is my affair!"

"I wholeheartedly agree. But as everybody gossips and we unfortunately need some living subjects to rule over, you cannot make them all a head shorter, as they undoubtedly deserve for slandering your wife. So, you go and have Geoffrey make a draft of the new succession act and I'll sign it without even reading it. Big promise little brother!"

Arthur didn't believe his ears. Was that all? 'Gwen is right' and that was that? Who had been imagining problems now, he or his wife? "But…. How can you? What about your own children?"

Morgana sighed theatrically. "Arthur, tell me, was it pleasurable to grow up as the heir to Camelot's throne?"

The question left him dumbfounded for a while. Finally he managed to say "not really."

"Then why on earth should I desire the same fate for my child?"

"You were once desirous enough to get the throne, desirous enough to see me dead."

The Queen closed her eyes briefly, struggling for patience. That again! "I've told you what I really wanted, Uther's head and a place earned in Camelot for me; the Isle rebuild for my sister's sake. Our father is dead, I'm Queen of Camelot and together we've done more for the Old Religion than I'd ever thought we _could_ do. I'm content, little brother. Besides, there will _be_ no child. You can tell your wife that."

"I'm sorry, Morgana" Arthur said, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. "I didn't want to offend you. I would never think to…. It's not for me to say if you're to have a child or not."

"Well, as you're my _brother_, anything else would exceed even my libertine boundaries of decency" Morgana replied drily. "That's not what I meant. Merlin and I are still in the very beginning, if you _must_ know."

She had no wish to discuss, not even with her brother, what she had found in Geoffrey's library, in some ancient texts. That a Destroyer must not – in fact could not – _have_ a child. A Destroyer's task in life was death, not giving new life.

It haunted her ever since she'd read it. What if Gaius' words and these ancient prophecies were true?

Morgana met Arthur's gaze once more. "Tell your Lady she can put her worries to rest, little brother. I have my own destiny to fulfil and who claims the throne after I'm gone is the least of my troubles."

Arthur nodded, face still red and hot. "Thanks, big sister. I owe you. We both owe you."

"Yes" she giggled to hide her nervousness. "A new lace shawl. I'll never find my old one in time for the opening ceremony."

"Let's go and ask your sister in law if she can borrow you one. If she can't, I'll go and steal one for you. Old fat Lady Harundale's shawl is far too pretty for her, don't you think?"

"For shame Your Majesty, she headed your nursery staff when you were a child."

"My thoughts exactly. She deserves every mischief I can think of!"

Everyone noticed the radiant mood and the unusual harmony between the royal siblings during the ceremony, especially as the King was remarkably cool towards his wife.

Most guests and onlookers commented fondly on the obvious affection between brother and sister. Only Erec mistook it for a sign of the King's abominable fondness for the Old Religion and the unnatural female wretches who served it.

Outside the festive halls and row of guards, the people of Camelot had also flocked to the stands with affordable food and wine, the jugglers, the fire-drinkers and all the other sensations awaiting them.

Minnie from the Crooked Captain was among them and she enjoyed herself thoroughly.

When her most favourite Royals appeared on the balcony, she almost shouted her head off, and she told all her friends that she had been the first one to cheer them on their return; because she for one had always known that the throne and the realm were rightfully theirs, an' no mistake.

When darkness finally fell, Minnie became much quieter. She hadn't really come for the roasted meat or for the wine, not even for a glimpse at the Pendragons and their lot, although she adored them all.

No, Minnie had come to close the old chapters of her life for good and to open a new book. The man she had come to see was approaching her now, and she knew what he wanted her to do.

Finally she met him discreetly behind one of the stables and when he took her hand, the stout, resolute woman blushed like a young girl on her first date.

Silently they found their way into the forests, like many other couples did, protected by the falling dawn, the dense trees and the other people's wish to be left alone as much as they did.

Minnie and her new love walked a while, until they reached a clearing the man had chosen special for this night. He had brought everything, blankets, food, drink, a lantern – even a poetry book with love verses, although he had had to borrow that from a friend.

It was a pity that someone else had reached the fine spot first.

Minni caught her breath.

There, by the lakeside, her naked skin shimmering in the soft moonlight, was a young woman with raven black hair flowing down her pale back. She had brought the same things and obviously for the same purpose, as she wasn't alone. By her side, holding her hand, his own clothes carelessly discarded nearby, was a man whom Minni recognized immediately as the young sorcerer all had once known as the Crown Prince's manservant, back in the old days of King Uther's rule.

The landlady gawked when the woman pulled her hand through Merlin's hair gently before she kissed him passionately. Without thinking Minni changed her position somewhat to get a better view. She gasped when she recognized the woman's face.

"It's her" she whispered frantically. "It's the Queen!"

Minnie almost doubled over when her partner took her arm and dragged her away. "What are you doing?"

"Search us another place. Or do you think she's interested in sharing right now?"

"Imagine that" Minnie said breathlessly when they finally settled down in a meadow by a pond. "Her Majesty on Beltane night in the forest, just like us. With a man. How very romantic."

"Speaking about it, my dear…." her partner said and some minutes later, Minnie was in the very centre of her own romance and she forgot about everything else rather quickly.

"There was someone in the bushes a while ago" Merlin meanwhile said, snuggling up to the woman he loved.

"There're a lot of people in the bushes tonight" Morgana replied dreamily. "That's what people did in the old times on Beltane night. Love each other."

"And I thought you wanted us to meet only to give me the push."

"You _are_ an idiot!"

"That's what your brother usually says."

"And you would always obey your King."

"And my Queen."

She turned and rested on her back; legs sprawled out, an arm under her head, her dress and cloak a silken blanket underneath her. The light made her exposed skin glitter from head to toe and he marvelled at her beauty.

"I'm glad you came" Morgana said softly, touching his cheek with her fingertips. "All of a sudden I had I feared you wouldn't."

"I could not stay away in the end. I had to come, although I didn't want to."

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Surely not."

"Then come to me again!"

"Is that an order?"

"Yes. It most definitely is."

Later Morgana started slightly, waking Merlin from a dreamlike state. "It's near midnight now, is it not?"

"Yes" the warlock grinned. "The sacred hour."

When she embraced his neck and pulled him down, there was no more use for talking.

When the Camelot bells struck twelve, their bodies, souls and magic melted into each other, freeing Morgana's inner being from its restraints, but other than all the wise magic-experts would have thought, it - just this once – it didn't destroy.

It was warm and gentle, comforting and reassuring, with no wish to cause havoc.

Well, _almost_ no wish.

In their all consuming bliss a thunderstorm was created that blew through all the makeshift tents and campsites of the forest, followed by a warm but heavy rainfall that washed away the last remainders of Minnie's momentous night.

But she didn't mind. Laughing and shouting she and her partner grabbed what possessions they could reach and ran home, still thinking that it had been a perfect night.

Most of the others did exactly the same and only a handful of people begrudged that they were as wet as drowned cats.

The two wizards who unknowingly had brought about the storm lay side by side. Dry and warm and cosy in each others arms, they slept until the morning came.


	9. Golden Age

**9. Golden Age**

Beltane's storm, as people had begun to call it, became famous as a good luck charm, the beginning of a Golden Age.

It began with the announcement of the planned christening of the King's second child, together with the names of the designated godfathers.

Hardly ever had a mere symbolic gesture harvested a more solid reward.

Marke – and even Erec – were hilarious in their triumph, and they almost stumbled over each other to show their gratitude. Geoffrey had trouble finding space for the great number of freshly sealed documents, each one containing binding obligations Marke Duke of Cornwall and the newly styled Erec Earl of Bodmin had voluntarily accepted on behalf of the Crown of Camelot.

Men for the royal army in case of war, knights for Camelot's permanent forces, a guaranteed twenty percent share in the nominal revenue of the Christian fiefdoms – their generosity knew no bound. Yet, even more important was the full acceptance of what Arthur thought to be the cornerstone of the New Camelot he had vowed to erect: His and Morgana's edict of tolerance for all religions.

From now on every subject of Camelot, no matter who, no matter where, would be free to choose his or her own believes and practices, magical or otherwise, answerable only to their own conscience and to the laws of the land. Legal and judicial authority in all religious matters would be with the Crown alone and the Druids would neither belong to the Barons nor to the Isle of the Blessed, but directly to the Crown.

Merlin grinned like a Cheshire cat when he came back from helping the old secretary. In his mind, a merry little tune was endlessly repeating itself. "_Free at last_" it sung. "_Arthur master in his own house, Morgana mine, Algernon's problems solved and isn't the world a most beautiful place_."

No more 'Emrys this' or 'Emrys that' from the Druid leader. No complaints, no Council duties, no itchy, sticky formal attires, no endless lectures on the intricacies of politics.

Nothing but endless days in the sun (with Morgana), studying magic (without Algernon), enjoying the amenities of Camelot (with Gwaine), talking about the old times (with Gaius or Leon) or about how great they had done and how clever they all were (preferably with Arthur once he'd left the stern King on the shelf for a change).

And at this point the song started all over again "_Free at last…_"

There was another reason for Merlin to feel relieved. Besides the personal advantages of being his own man again, the warlock had better things to do than listening to boring speeches and reports.

Gaius had invited Alice back into Camelot; she'd arrived six weeks ago and since then the physician was in seventh heaven.

Merlin envisioned the upcoming nuptials in great detail. Although it would by no means be a grand affair, the wizard pondered the guest list and the proceedings thoroughly whenever he found the time.

True enough, so far the future bridegroom and his bride hadn't even discussed marriage at all, but Merlin was already thinking hard on a plan to speed up matters.

The bustling warlock also discussed the catering and the location of the momentous event with Gwaine at great length.

In his opinion, the knight was the perfect choice for organising such an event. So Merlin was very angry with his King when Arthur - in a rare, quiet moment squeezed in between Council sessions and Court duties - not only gave his heartfelt congratulations and good wishes for Gaius, but also strongly suggested to consult Hunith instead.

As a result of the warlock's mood and choice of top priorities, three things were as plain as a pikestaff:

Merlin was so very happy that he willingly chose to ignore the handful of still sour faces in the Court's crowd.

Merlin was still new enough to the political arena to think that it was a job like building a house; it would be laborious but one day it would be finished and then you could go about other things.

Merlin was hell-bent on allowing nothing and nobody to spoil this for him, come hell or high water.

Arthur watched him, wanted to destroy his illusions and thought better of it. When reality would catch up with 'Emrys' it would be a black day for a young man still an innocent at heart and whenever it came, it would dawn on him too soon.

Therefore Arthur decided that the bitter pills which were to be swallowed right now would be pushed down the relevant throats without the warlock's help for once.

As usual, Angus Branguard opened the dance of the cruelly and unjustly bereaved.

As usual My Lord Ravenclaw unceremoniously burst into the King's office before the official audiences began.

As usual the trespassing was possible only because Malcolm had been careless enough to leave his brother out of his sight.

"Sire, this is outrageous. Oh, forgive me Madam." Belatedly Angus bowed to the Queen. As always Morgana's presence tamed him somewhat; but not enough. "Your Graces, the guardianship of the heirs to the throne must lie with me. This Godfathers thing….. Marke and Erec…..how dare they….."

Once Arthur's temper had flared up at the mere mentioning of this subject but since then the King had learned a lot. For example, how to seek refuge in irony. "As your guardianship will only become effective if I'm dead or captured by an enemy, I'll sleep so much better knowing how much you're looking forward to it."

However, the broad but gentle hint was_ too_ gentle for the enraged Angus to comprehend. "Your Majesty, this is no joking matter…" he started to instruct his monarch.

Seeing that Morgana was slowly rising, Arthur made haste to bring the unsavoury encounter to an end. "Rest assured My Lord, nothing has changed. My daughter is heir to the throne and your guardianship for her stands firm, the christening will not change that."

"What if your second child is a boy?" Angus dared the King with the madness of a man doomed by fate and the will of God.

Arthur's sister knew when her brother gave up on a conversation and she knew when to step in. So Morgana smiled radiantly at the enraged Baron and her smile showed all her teeth. Especially her canine ones. "Are you implying that a woman is unfit to rule?"

"Yes!" Branguard coughed nervously. There was something threatening in this smile…. "I mean, no. Of course not. I just thought, a strong warrior…. I mean, naturally Your Majesty is a heroine with the sword ….."

Angus got tangled in his own words and looked to the door despairingly. Sometimes his brother made a miraculous surprise appearance, just in the right moment to safeguard his elder sibling's arse.

Alas, today Malcolm was dining with his future mother-in-law and had his own stomach pains to consider.

Branguard winced when Morgana laid her slender hand on his shoulder. "Don't you worry, my _dearest_ Angus" she said softly. "Should bad come to worse, the Lady Guinivere will depend on you to defend her regency. Nothing has changed."

"We still rely on your bravery and your shrewd wits" Arthur's smile was made of iron.

Only now, for the very first time, Angus really understood that he had been fighting for the privilege to grab a double edged blade with his bare hands. "You mean, we Branguards would have to go against the joint forces of Cornwall _and_ Bodmin _and_ Leodegrance's former estate …"

He broke off. The perspective was too terrifying. He wasn't a coward and Ravenclaw was strong, but to be outnumbered like that…and for somebody else's interest….

"Have no fear" Morgana now purred like a well fed cat. "The women of Camelot will always protect you, Angus!"

A second later Arthur looked at Branguard's hastily retreating back and shook his head in awe. "Morgana, I'll never have such meetings without you in future!"

"That was only the beginning. The door knob will not cool down any time soon, you'll see."

And she was right. An endless stream of nobles, commoners, Christian priests, merchants, craftsmen and almost any other group in Camelot's varied society had some complaint or another.

They all were dealt with, some friendly and with understanding, others by Morgana.

At the end of the week, the stupor mundi was complete: Estates, fortunes and titles dispatched, fights settled, claims accepted or denied and no civil war in sight, no rebellions, no death threats – nothing all around them but sunshine and roses.

"Arthur, we did it" Morgana said when the sun set on the last day of this summer's Grand Audiences. "We've squared the circle! Or rather, you did, you and your honey-tongue."

"You too have a marvellous talent for _push__ing_ circles into neat square forms, even if they struggle" Arthur replied with a courteous little bow. "It came in handy in some cases."

"So we are a good team?" Morgana teased.

"As if we were brother and sister."

"Who would've thought it possible? The Crown of Camelot and the Old Religion in perfect union!"

Morgana wasn't smiling anymore and neither was her brother.

They both remembered their last encounter with Morgause and Armand too well.

The Isle of the Blessed's future ruler had taken her time, actually she had been among the last ones who came and _when_ she came, she made it a ten minutes call.

Without further ado the High Priestess accepted the invitation to the christening; she accepted the new status of the Druids and she most graciously thanked the King for the annual stipend Camelot would pay to the Isle in exchange for 'an enduring friendship and alliance', whatever that meant.

Armand just stood behind her and said nothing.

Morgause embraced Morgana and her stepbrother formally and swept out with a smile too sweet to be genuine.

"I wonder what that means" the Queen now murmured. "We pay the Isle an awful lot of money and yet…. We lay claim on huge parts of her authority and she doesn't even _mention_ it?"

Morgana banged her fist on the table in frustration. "Morgause _must_ know that we curbed her entitlements and authority. All magicians were once subjects of the Isle, all Druids were its serves; all matters of religion and magic were for the High Priestess to decide."

"I'm sure she _does_ know" Arthur replied drily. "But like us, she can only go so far whilst her power basis is still under reconstruction. As the resources of the Isle will grow, so will her demands."

Morgana gritted her teeth. This had been slow in coming, but inevitable. "_Wh__ich__ side are you on, Morgana Pendragon_?"

She looked her brother straight into the eyes. "You will give in to Morgause's demands, won't you Arthur?"

"As far as I can, but if she endangers what we've achieved here…."

"….you will defy her" Morgana completed his sentence. "You will side with the Druids. Or with the Christians. But not with my sister and the Isle, after all she's done for us?"

Arthur's answer was calm but firm. "I'll do what's best for our people and Camelot. I promised the Druids and everybody else who's willing to respect our laws a free and independent life in safety within our borders. I intend to keep this promise and I expect as much of my Queen."

"What if the Christians go against your laws?" Morgana retorted. "Or one of the Barons?"

"The knights of Camelot will fight anyone who breaks the peace, without distinction of person, rank, faith or fortune." Arthur's voice reverberated as he said it. It was the very essence of his idea of what Camelot should be. He would not give it up, for no one.

"That's a fine dream, Arthur. But it'll bring you between all chairs in the end."

The young King shrugged angrily. "There are worse places to be!"

"Our father always said you've to side with one group against the other until it is sufficiently weakened before you change sides to keep the first group in check" Morgana repeated one of Uther's most cherished axioms. "A King has varying opponents; therefore he can afford neither permanent friendships nor impartiality."

Arthur cheeks reddened. "Uther despised the nobles' ways to plunder their own peasants; he'd loved to take on able commoners as knights yet he didn't dare. Because he preferred crawling up the aristocracy's arses too get their approval for his private holy war. I will not do that."

Morgana relaxed visibly. "Do you have any idea how many years I've waited to hear you say that, little brother? I thought the day would never come."

"I do have your support then?" Arthur asked urgently, taking her hands.

Morgana flinched inwardly. "_Morgause_" she thought, suddenly saddened almost to tears. "_Oh sister, that's not __what we wan__t__ed_. _You were my home once, my one and only refuge._"

Outwardly she made a bold face and grinned. "Against a world of selfish, power-greedy, puffed-up men who'd sell their own grandmothers if it served their interests? Sounds like fun!"

From that day on, Arthur had the distinct feeling that he could conquer anything; overcome any obstacle, as long as he and his sister were of the same mind.

As days became weeks and weeks became months, events proved him right.

Some thought, albeit only in their hearts, that their young King and Queen had found a way to finally expel Uther's dark spirit from the realm.

Whatever it was that drove the dark clouds from Camelot's sky, suddenly all evil seemed to flee castle, city and realm; all troubles vanished beyond the horizon and an atmosphere of hope and a spirit of optimism ruled the day.

Lancelot and Alaine got married on a bright sunny day in the shell of what was to become Camelot's first fully rigged and furnished Christian church.

A proud Erec gave the bride away and everyone muttered how very beautifully she was and what a fortune her guardian had spent on her dress and trousseau – taken from her own money of course, but people didn't think that far.

There was a grand feast in Camelot's hall. Everybody was there; only the Lady Guinivere was unwell due to her advanced pregnancy. Under the circumstances everybody thought it perfectly understandable that the King only stayed an hour.

Besides, Arthur and Morgana insisted on seeing the newly weds off when they departed for one of Alaine's estates in the far south of Camelot to begin their married life and the extremely valuable set of jewellery Alaine got for a good-bye present was the Court's nine days' wonder.

During this feast Gwaine got roaring drunk, but with Merlin's determined help – and with some discreet support from Leon – he avoided any brawl.

However, the firework of his charm and his witty – if somewhat incoherent – conversation earned him the special interest of a few Ladies.

Two of them, Griseldis and Marian, decided that he was too fine and adorable a man to be left to the destitution of unmarried life and before Gwaine really understood the danger he was in, one woman had driven not only her rival from the field but also the knight's belated and badly coordinated resistance.

From this day onwards, things developed at a breath-taking speed.

One grey and dreary day in autumn, rain drizzling outside and cold gusts of wind tormenting everyone, Sir Gwaine stood before his King, stammering his way through a declaration of love for the Lady Griseldis and a subsequent petition for a permit to get married.

Arthur not only granted it immediately, he also saw to it that the bachelor's party was an extremely memorable one and that it was held very soon.

Naturally Lady Marian was in dire need of comfort and consolation and who was better suited to give it than Sir Leon.

As a result nobody was really surprised when there was a second bachelor's party within a week after the first and a double marriage at the Crown's expense a week after that.

Both weddings took place in one of the Old Religion's restored temples. As everything had happened so very swiftly, no one thought much of the fact that no priest from the Isle was there.

Only Morgana and Gaius knew that Arthur's polite request to staff the temple with a priest and scholars had been rudely refused by Armand of Morgwyn but neither of the three breathed a word about the deliberate affront to anyone.

The Queen herself made use of the fact that she was, after all, an acolyte of the Isle in her own right and she spoke the words that made Gwaine and Leon married men in a very dignified manner. Some Druid Elders assisted her.

Actually Merlin had been Morgana's first choice for that – the way she saw it, he had to learn to behave like an official of the magic community anyway, so why not start now. But Merlin had given the richly adorned ceremonial robes one long look and then he had, much to Morgana's disappointment, absolutely, categorically refused. He became Gwain's best man and that was that.

Yet the wizard was in for a profound disappointment of his own.

Gaius and Alice thought that another big wedding would be too much of a good thing; as a consequence the two of them, with an unsuspecting warlock in tow, eloped somewhat later to Algernon's camp and came back as a married couple.

Subsequent to their return, all hell broke lose in a quarter from which no one had expected it. Geoffrey tore his hair out in despair about the administrative disaster of having three different forms of marriages, some with certificates, some without. His time-honoured filing system was in complete disarray; this couldn't go on or he would quit, as he told his King in no uncertain words.

That was when Merlin was called to Arthur's office to be thoroughly lectured on the fact that organizing the return of the Old Religion to the realm was part of the Court Sorcerer's job description.

The warlock and the secretary became very intimately acquainted after that.

Merlin frequently repeated that he had imagined Camelot's Golden Age somewhat differently. Less paperwork, more fun; or something in that style.

Naturally it didn't do him any good. Morgana pitied him and tried to make it up to him whenever they were together but that was as far as she went.

Arthur's response was brief and very concise. "Shut up, Merlin."

"Some things haven't changed at all" the warlock muttered irritably when he trotted out. "Dollop-head!"

Arthur's wedding gift to his Court Physician reconciled the angered wizard, however. He knew how very much Gaius and Alice had wished for the old "Healers' Seminar" to be reopened.

Within a month after the first students had been taken on, Gaius was caught up in teaching and experimenting and discussing and organising up to his neck while Alice took over more and more of his duties in castle and city.

All around Merlin people seemed to be content, perhaps even happy. Life was good, and to some it was also fulfilling. No doubt for Merlin, in spite of all his tribulations, life was good too.

Secretly he and Morgana still practised her magic and what they could do with a combination of their powers. They took great care that things didn't get out of hand once more and they told nobody what they were doing. Other than that - ,well…

For the very first time in his life, Merlin was not only deeply and truly in love but he could live his love-story openly and freely and he knew it was the same for Morgana.

It was how life should be. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. But for a few minor irritations only an oversensitive former guardian-angel-in-disguise would notice.

As things settled down bit by bit, the patrols, the occasional persecution of bandits or other criminals were no longer the business of a Prince and his faithful manservant. Gwaine and Leon now too had duties that kept them at Court almost all the time.

Others rode out to defend the good people gallantly and they rode with Percival, Elyan or Tristan in the lead. The King's task was to give the order, to wait for their return, to reward their success or chastise their failure.

Sometimes Merlin looked at Arthur sitting where his father had sat before him, doing the things Uther had done, trudging through the same duties; always controlled, always aloft, always 'The King'. More and more Arthur looked the part of someone bigger than life, forever confined in perfect solitude.

Whenever the warlock had thought about the time Arthur would finally be on the throne, he had imagined that it would make his friend's life complete, that Arthur would be happy and content before all others.

There was no denying that he had been thoroughly misguided in that; what Merlin saw before his eyes day by day was the perfect antithesis to his dreams.

Uther had seemed inhuman at times and the warlock felt a stitch in his guts when he realized that Arthur, in spite of his diametrically opposed policies, was about to become his father's spit image.

Finally Merlin couldn't stand it any more. "Arthur, you're growing fat and lazy. You haven't been on the training ground in weeks. Let's go and have some sword exercise, eh? I promise, you can bash me all you like, I'll not turn you into a donkey."

Arthur looked up from the papers he was working on. His gaze wandered first to Excalibur and then to his own wrists. With a half bewildered, half angry frown he asked "what for?" before he returned to his work.

Merlin's shoulders sank. This wasn't good. He needed to think of something to put this right, and soon.

Only now Merlin began to ask himself when he had last seen Arthur and Guinivere together.


	10. Galahad

**10. Galahad**

"Gaius? Gaius, wake up! She's bad..." Merlin yelled and at three o'clock in an otherwise peaceful yet wet and windy night in late autumn, the walls of Camelot Castle seemed to yell back at him with a vengeance.

It didn't even occur to the deeply disturbed warlock that he had every right to order a guard or a servant to search for the physician. King Arthur's personal advisor, closest friend and official Court Sorcerer stormed head first through the door of the Court Physician's quarters and came to a slithering halt in the middle of the room. Disbelieving he stared at old cobwebs, forgotten dust bunnies and a bat trying to get ready for a late night start.

What the hell...

The sound of a slap resounded through the chamber as Merlin hit his own forehead. Gods almighty, what a stupid mistake to make.

Down the stairs again, through the main corridor, down another flight of stairs, 'cross the main yard, pass the stables, the smithy, another row of stables, some of the knights' quarters, a kitchen house, a herb and vegetable garden, a pond with clear shining water and finally, finally, to the entrance of Gaius' and Alice's by now famous Seminar for Healing Science and Magic. Or 'Giblets', as the students called it.

"Emrys, what..." Algernon rose from a sedated, recently treated compatriot's side with a worried frown but Merlin didn't see him.

Not before he ran into the Druid leader at top speed that is.

Which didn't keep the young man from babbling all his troubles off his soul. "Gwen has gone into labour. Some time during the night. She didn't tell anyone. Arthur found her, by sheer chance. She's bad, she's very bad. I need Gaius..."

"Pull yourself together Emrys. You know Gaius is in Ealdor, to see a few of the Druids' best healers. Where do you have your head?"

Only now Merlin remembered that Gaius had been looking forward to this meeting for many a week. Arthur himself had been there to see the healer off some days ago.

Gwen had been fine by then, the birth still somewhere in the future. Or so everyone had assumed.

Algernon grew impatient when Merlin just gaped at him. "Where's the King's other physician? This Father what's-his-name."

"The idiot is an idiot and besides he's down with the flu. Where's Alice?"

"I'm here, Merlin."

The warlock almost collapsed with relief – and exhaustion. Gods, he spent far too much time behind a desk nowadays. "Alice, she's bad, she's real bad and you know Arthur took on Father Severinus only because Erec recommended him as a good Christian and when Arthur mentioned Gwen's pregnancy to him he went to wash his ears as they had heard an unclean thing...I ask you, what kind of doctor is that..."

"Stop babbling, Merlin. Algernon, go and fetch my bag." Alice's hands were flying, doing half a dozen things simultaneously. Except Gaius she was the only person Merlin knew capable of such a miracle. In a minute she was ready, had her gear and stuff about her and her mind focussed on the task ahead. "Where's the midwife?"

"Drunk!" Merlin shrugged helplessly.

Alice flinched. "There's a certain young King who needs his ears boxed for neglecting a pregnant wife" she said under her breath while she climbed upwards to Gwen's chambers as fast as possible.

Instantaneously Merlin went into defensive mode. "It wasn't Arthur's fault; Gwen sent the midwife away to attend a feast in the servants' quarters, saying that she felt fine and had no need of her! But then, hours later, Arthur checked up on Gwen and he found her on the floor. She's bleeding...almost unconscious..." Oh Gods. Merlin's stomach fluttered in another bout of sympathy-caused nausea.

The healer frowned whilst she hastened on. Why the hell had the young Lady, to everybody's knowledge prone to difficult childbirth, chosen to keep anyone in the dark that long? For one thing was certain – to come to that bad a state had taken her some time.

"Alice, thank heaven!" Morgana rose at the healer's arrival, an agitated Geoffrey at her side. "Arthur is with her, he allows nobody in..."

"The Court should be assembled" Geoffrey said, much more upset at the breach of protocol than he was at the risk of the King losing his wife. "The birth must be witnessed, child is next in line to the throne..."

The healer didn't even pretend to heed his mumbling, after a few comforting words to the Queen she went right past him and entered Gwen's bedroom.

Arthur sat on the bed, cradling his wife who hardly moved. Alice had one good look at the young woman's sweaty hair and bloodless features and her own face hardened.

The enemy was already lurking at this sick-bed's side, willing to take two lives for the price of one. Alice's enemy. Every healer's enemy.

Death.

"Alice, please. Please, I beg you..." Arthur's voice broke. His eyes were radiant with tears not shed, wide open, desperately pleading. "Don't let her die. Please, don't let her die..."

"I won't Your Grace" Alice replied very gently, her anger about the neglecting husband momentarily forgotten. "Now, Your Majesty, please leave me to my work..."

Furtively Merlin tucked at Arthur's sleeve. The sooner Alice could get to her patient the better it would be...

"Leave, Merlin!" The King's command left no room for debates and yet the wizard couldn't believe it. "Arthur _you_ must leave..."

"I SAID GET OUT! Nobody is going to see her like that, nobody but me and Alice. She's my _wife_, damn your eyes!"

The warlock ran from this room faster than he'd entered it. His heart was in his throat, together with the better part of his stomach's content.

Never before Arthur's hand had went to his blade in anger meaning Merlin.

Unseeing, the wizard stumbled into Morgana's outstretched arms. "He doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't even know it's you" she tried to comfort him. "He's not really here. He's in the night his mother died."

"I know" the warlock muttered but he was still shaking. There had been murder written all over Arthur's face; the kind usually reserved for combat situations and arch enemies.

It stood to reason though that Merlin should have seen it coming.

Arthur had already been half nuts when he had roused the warlock from deepest slumber, demanding immediate magical action from the famously worst healing magician who'd ever disgraced his tutor.

The most powerful warlock of all times was renowned for many talents but not for the ability to cure a rainy day, especially not a day on which a crestfallen Gwaine, suffering from the first serious domestics in his young marriage, had almost forced four ales down the wizard's throat because he was in dire need of a sympathetic ear.

Therefore the warlock felt that he had failed Guinivere in an hour of need, that he had been useless when Arthur most depended on him; he felt terribly, almost crushed by a guilty conscience and falling into Morgana's comforting arms helped tremendously with that.

However, the Queen lacked the time for a proper round of active consolation. "Your Majesty, the Court…." Geoffrey insisted.

"Yes, well…." and half an hour later the Queen had miraculously patched up all the holes her brother had recklessly riddled the intricately woven pattern of Court Protocol with; all was done with the proper decorum and pompous ceremony.

Erec was among the first to arrive in Gwen's antechamber, full of the momentous event and his own most august role in it. At least that was what Algernon and many of the supporters of the Old Religion thought of him, and, unfortunately, they were right.

Duke Marke arrived somewhat later together with an upset Father Severinus who for once earned his keep by standing in a corner, mumbling prayers untiringly, frequently interrupted by some pitiable snivelling and coughing.

Alas, all the hopes and good wishes, all the prayers were in vain for now, as Alice decided to delay the birth. She could already see that the final stage would be a terrible ordeal and opted for a chance to strengthen the mother as much as she could.

Morgana thought nothing of informing the assembled Court quite blatantly about the intended magical healing methods and, other than Algernon, she and Merlin were quite oblivious of Erec's reaction.

One day, the Earl swore to himself, one day this magic-having riff-raff would be extinguished from this earth and all the power in the world would go to those who deserved it by breeding, piety and aristocratic rank.

Three days passed before Alice, with a heavy heart, decided to let nature have its way.

Three days during which no persuasion, no coercion, no pleading could convince the King to leave his wife. As his worst nightmares caught up with him, Arthur began to forget every single trouble his marriage had ever seen.

As for his devastated friend, Merlin walked in on the first morning, bringing fresh clothes and everything, as if he still were the always caring, humble manservant, which, in fact, he'd never really been. Well, caring, of course. But humble?

This time, however, he kept his rash tongue in check. Morgana strongly advised it, to avoid any more rash talking between the two. Morgana knew that her brother had no real desire to say or do something he'd deeply regret later on.

The warlock was unhappy with the unsolved quarrel, but he stuck by the advice and Arthur thanked him by keeping his own snappiness under control.

Had he not been _that_ shocked by the sudden outburst Merlin might have guessed that the King's aggressive behaviour was rooted in the fierce wish to be the first to actually _see_ the child when it was born.

Just in case.

But once the birth was well under way Arthur forgot about that, too. Gwen, on the other hand clung to him for dear life but she found no strength there, just the mirror-image of her own fear. Driven to their limits by an extreme situation no usual restraint, no idea of a proper composure took hold over them. "Guinivere, my love, I need you. Please don't leave me. I won't survive without you. I love you, more than my life." Over and over again, hour after hour; until a slowly panicking Alice silently wished the frantic husband to the deepest hell, for all the genuine pity she felt for him.

The healer screamed with joy and relief when some time during the next day Gaius arrived, called away from his much longed-for meeting by one of Algernon's best riders.

As Alice was the expert for childbirth and everything around it, Gaius could do little more than hold her hand and offer support when her courage faltered, inwardly sending heart-felt thanks to the Gods that he had been spared the torment to see _her_ in a childbed such as this.

Another 12 hours later the child was born and it was a boy.

It was a strong and healthy child, but with elegant, slender bones, a dark skin and equally dark, unruly hair he resembled neither Arthur nor Guinivere. While Margaly had Uther's changeable grey-green-blue eyes, the new born boy had, as far as one could see at so early a stage, eyes of a shining black.

Alice who had worked nothing less than a miracle, showed the little boy to his father with as much pride as if it were her child. She was crestfallen when Arthur didn't even look at the baby. Impatiently, almost angrily he pushed the arms with the child in them away, having eyes only for his wife. "Will she live, Gaius? She must live. I need her, y'hear me? She must live, Gaius, she must!"

Gaius was taken back in time by those words. Uther's words, although Arthur could not know that. Like Arthur now, the King had not deigned to look at his little son. "_Gaius, she must live! Let her live, use your magic, do whatever it takes! I'll shower you with gold, I'll give you anything you want, anything, I beg you, I can't live without Igraine. Gaius, please…_"

Back then the answer had been 'no' and not even the High Priestess Nimueh had been able to cheat fate and death. Today the healer straightened his back and faced his King. "She will live, My Lord. Given time I dare say the Lady Guinivere will make a full recovery."

Arthur closed his eyes and let out a breath he had been holding far too long. For the first time in many, many years his legs buckled not because of an illness or an injury but with sheer relief and overwhelming emotions. He fell to his knees by the bedside, completely exhausted, crying shamelessly.

It was in that exact position that Erec saw him when he forced his way into the room, decoyed by the child's wailing. With his ears only just dragged away from the door, he already knew it was a boy.

A boy! _His_ godchild. The first Pendragon Prince to be baptised in a Christian Church. _His_ church, the one he had founded in Camelot, he would make sure of that.

In Erec's head the thoughts stumbled about each other in their haste to make it to the front. To the place His Lordship used to keep his pet schemes.

To hell with Arthur's absurd idea of keeping his daughter on as heir apparent, now, that he finally had a son.

The Branguards could go and rot with their claim on Margaly, a mere girl.

Maybe the kitchen wrench Arthur'd married would kick the bucket….

Even young Kings could meet an accident and die….

Once the King was gone, who would stay loyal to the great witch and her wizard dung-heap born lover, now, that a Crown Prince had been born…

Erec stopped at the sight of Arthur on his knees.

The Earl's face relaxed and he almost smiled as a flash of genius crossed his mind.

Imperiously he signalled Gaius and Alice to present the child to him. He looked. Looked closer. Looked at the prone figure on the bed, at the weeping young husband by her side, back to the child – and remembered. Remembered every breath of scandal he'd ever heard, remembered the sudden haste with which his ward Alaine had been married off to a certain knight with dark eyes and dark hair.

The whole scene took barely a minute and Erec grinned, but only for a second.

When he turned round, strode to the door to open it wide with a dramatic movement of both arms, his face was all piety, gratitude and devotion: "Christ our saviour be praised" he exclaimed, loud enough for even the people gathered in the outer corridor to hear him. "A Prince has been born to rule over us. A Prince sent from heaven to move all those hearts that still persist in error and paganism, as Prince Galahad has already brought our beloved King, his father, into the light of Christ!"

Gaius and Alice were dumbfounded, Arthur's ears and mind were far away from politics and symbols just this once and Morgana was clueless as to the danger that lay in this presumption. The Queen was not one for symbols and gestures anyway; a severed head was something she understood, a clever play on the emotional board had always been Morgause's forte.

Meanwhile Erec just droned on. He knew his chance would be short-lived. "Let us pray, my beloved friends, let us pray together with our beloved King!"

The Earl was the first who fell to his knees, his head bowed, his hands brought together, with tears in his eyes, making sure that the crowd had Arthur in full sight, who only now, alarmed by Gaius' murmurs, became aware that something strange was going on.

He rose and hesitatingly approached the door and the assembly outside, trying to drag his mind away from Guinivere. He could not know how much he was playing into Erec's hand in that moment. Overwrought, worn out, upset and with a face flushed from crying he looked the perfect martyr and the effect on the staring, excited crowd was immense.

One by one they fell to their knees; it was the same mass-psychology that had had them enthused when their handsome young King, all alone, surrounded by enemies, had pulled the sword Excalibur from the stone. "_Like a sacrificial lamb surrounded by a pack of wolves_" as Erec had put it afterwards, as usual jumping on an opportunity to let Arthur look weak and incompetent. Everybody had been all too willing to forget that the speaker had been one of the wolves that day.

However, today not everyone followed Erec's lead.

Marke stood upright, a picture of revulsion at the methods Erec used, but silent nonetheless as the scheme served the interests of his faith, as he saw it.

The Branguards were furious. Angus looked his dishevelled young King over briefly and, on instinct, he turned to the Queen with all the fire his insulted pride and disappointed avarice gave him, his awe of her forgotten. "Your Majesty, I must protest. This is an outrage!" Malcolm, as usual the cooler of the two, seconded him. "Royalty is above religion and the Act of Succession is for Crown and Council to decide! How does Lord Erec dare such blatant transgressions against Your Majesties' rights!"

Morgana and Arthur exchanged a look and she decided that her brother needed a time-out. "You're right My Lord Saltyre. Lord Erec will end this foolish nonsense _this_ instance!"

Sobered and a bit afraid of the Queen's infamous temper people got to their feet and made ready to leave, bowing and curtsying their way out.

And now, in this single moment, seduced by a delusion of grandeur, Erec became his own nemesis. He darted up and roared for all he was worth "Hush your mouth, woman! Remember your place!"

The room fell dead silent.

Marke turned to Erec, gobsmacked by this turn of events, speechless.

All other eyes hung at the Queen's pale face or at her brother's for Arthur had only just made it into the room, fully alert now. As the old habits kicked back in, Merlin, Gwaine and Leon immediately stood by the young King's side, while Elyan and Percival took their clue from Arthur's sharp look and hastened into the bedroom, locking the door behind them.

Who ever tried to break into that room in the next few minutes; he would get through to Elyan's relatives and their healer friends only over the knights' dead bodies.

In the antechamber everyone expected the King to say or do something about the unbelievable affront Erec had just offered, but as it was, Arthur stood no chance.

Morgana's eyes flashed golden and Erec was suddenly quiet, motionless, albeit quite involuntarily. "My _place_?" the Queen hissed viciously. "I know _my_ place, My Lord Earl. Shall I show you yours?"

At once Erec was forced back to his knees. Once down he slumped until his forehead bumped to the floor. He was panting heavily, straining with all his might to break free from her force, but he was defenceless against her magic.

The crowd pulled back; appalled, but captivated by the fascinating sight. They all had heard rumours about Morgana's gifts but only a few had seen them in action until now; they were still fearful and yet it would have needed two handfuls of guards to make them leave.

Would the Queen strangle him in front of everyone? Would she kill him? And what would the King do?

This was _so_ thrilling!

Arthur took Merlin's wrist and pushed the wizard behind him forcefully before he could carry out his obvious intention to chastise Morgana for what she was doing.

Beltane night was one thing. This was a different pair of shoes. The last thing Arthur needed right now was his former manservant berating Her Majesty the Queen in front of everyone.

A curt, whispered order sent Leon for a detachment of the palace guards from the corridor and then Arthur confronted his sister. "You can let the offender go, My Lady. He will be punished for his offence!"

Morgana cocked a brow, visible only for her brother, Gwaine and Merlin, a kind of 'welcome-back-to-the-world-Your-Majesty' grin and her magic pulled back smoothly, allowing Erec to collapse on the floor.

The Earl was suffering from more than physical pain and shock. Deep down inside him the self-styled icon of Christian piety hated women, all of them, indiscriminately, hated them with a fierce, aggressive revulsion some young peasant women from his estates could have told a thing or two about.

_If_ they had survived his 'friendship', which they had not.

That he had been humiliated in front of the whole Court by a woman, and by a filthy _witch_, was more than Erec's self-control could withstand.

Seething with ice-cold, silent fury, he jumped up and came for Morgana, his whole being wrapped around the one thought alone, to make her suffer for what she had done to him. Blind for everything but for his own feelings, Erec didn't even notice that Arthur had come between him and the object of his burning wrath.

Aristocrats went nowhere without their swords; Erec was no exception. Which meant he was armed, as much as all the others. All but their King, as Arthur found the very thought of taking his blade when he walked the few steps from his rooms to his wife's utterly ridiculous.

Suddenly the royal siblings were in a vortex of simultaneous events.

_Morgana_ was pushed away by her brother, out of Erec's reach but she had her own dagger out of her belt in the blink of an eye and rushed back to the battle scene as fast as her long and heavy silk-and-velvet skirts would let her.

_Arthur_ had lost not more than a split second when he brought her to safety, but it had been a very precious one. He turned round by a hair's breadth too late and Erec's wild assault caught him from behind and made him stumble.

_Merlin_, too, had been distracted by what happened to the woman he loved and so his valiant magical rescue attempt ended with a bolt of lightning fizzling uselessly over the nearest wall.

The only one near who had all his wits blessedly about him, all his attention focussed on the royal he had come to regard as a more foolish version of a brother _and _a sword in his hand was Gwaine.

When Leon and his soldiers stormed into the room barely two minutes later, they found a bunch of very upset people kept in check by the two Branguards and Duke Marke on the room's one side and an incredibly wild and dangerous looking Gwaine on the other, standing in front of the Pendragons and Merlin with his sword at a bewildered Erec's throat.

"Sire! You're bleeding!" Leon was crestfallen at the sight of a sword cut in Arthur's side. Blast it, he was the palace guards' commander, things like his King being injured did not happen on his watch!

"_It's nothing, just a stupid accident_" Arthur wanted to reply but he didn't.

He couldn't.

In fact, there was only one thing he _could_ do, a thing he loathed for the consequences it would have, for his people, his realm, his friends and for the precious, fragile peace they all had made such sacrifices to achieve. "My Lord Erec, you're arrested under a charge of High Treason. Take him away!"

Ten minutes later the quietness outside persuaded Elyan and Percy that the threat had passed. They opened the door and found that everybody else was gone to. The antechamber was deserted but for two stony faced guards and a despairing midwife who had finally found the courage to look after her charge instead of running to the end of the world.

"Well, I never…." Alice shook her head disbelievingly. "I ask you, Gaius, is that a way to care for a sick woman and a new born baby? Running away without a word? Where is everybody?"

Percy, his usual uncommunicative self, gave her a small push and pointed at a dark spot on the ground. Blood!

"Goodness gracious me" Gaius said aghast, taking up his own bag and hasted out without so much as 'by your leave'. Percy followed in his wake.

Elyan would have done the same, had he been quick enough about it. He was not and a most aggravated Alice roped him in to help her and the midwife, for, as she eloquently argued, if the husband was a total loss and everybody else took his clue from said husband just because he thought of himself not as the snotty brat he was but as royalty most exalted, at least the poor wretched woman's brother could give a helping hand and really, for all the long years of her life, she had no idea why the Great Mother should ever have created a creature as useless, unreliable and thick headed as a human male.

That one of the King's messengers arrived a moment later to inform her about the situation that had driven the King away from his wife's side much against his will did nothing to appease Alice; she even berated her own husband for running off behind the others like a panicking rabbit.

As things were, Gaius' services as a physician were not needed but his advice was much sought after in the Council, with some sides arguing heatedly for an immediate execution whilst others fancied a prolonged and impressive court of law procedure before Lord Erec was made a head shorter.

After a while Merlin whispered to Gaius that he might try and read Arthur's wishes from his face; as far as the warlock was concerned the King's face screamed for a non-lethal solution. Which meant, they needed some peace and quiet to think of one. Alas Morgana, who had come to the same conclusion, was too caught up in addresses of sympathy from people who didn't much like her, by offers of warm blankets she did not need and by fussing women who projected their own hysterics unto her.

Gaius was fascinated by the fact that the proverb of 'doctor's orders' could sometimes persuade even a bunch of agitated nobles and courtiers to give their monarchs a break.

"Thanks, Gaius" Morgana said when the four of them were finally alone. "One minute longer and our Court would have been formed by smoldering corpses!"

Gaius, well versed in the art of persuasion that looked like respectful suggestion, performed another miracle when he persuaded Arthur to find some rest himself before going back to Guinivere. The miracle was possible only because Morgana and Merlin virtually arrested the King, and hence the physician found himself alone with Alice, the midwife and his patients half an hour later.

"It's true, a healer's work is never done" Alice sad tiredly when the midwife made her bed, for the physician had decided to stay with her patient for the night. She was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

At last Gaius had the time to examine the little Prince a bit closer. Not that he doubted Alice's competence, but he was as curious as the next man.

"E's a real pretty one, the lad is" the midwife offered, anxious to make amends to a man whose one word could have her expelled from castle and town. "Evry inch the ol' King's father the little lamb!" She hesitated, waiting for Gaius' reaction. Would he bless her with a forgiving chat? His bitch of a wife would not an' no mistake. Dame Alice had almost slapped her face when the crestfallen midwife had greeted her earlier.

Gaius kept quiet and the midwife tried another tack to win his affection. "An' I should know how our young King's grandpa was lookin', my mother was a servant to King Uther's mother all her grown-up life, afore 'e came 'ere that was. A black devil my mother called Uther's father, all dark 'airs and dark skin an' eyes she said an' Uther looking nothing like 'im but for the mole on 'is back!"

"What mole?" Gaius asked, frowning when a half-formed memory crossed his mind.

"The dragon on the back, on the left shoulder. C'me on, you must remember it, King Uther often said it gave 'is family the name!"

Quickly Gaius exposed the baby's back and, 'as sure as eggs is eggs' as the beaming midwife said, there was a small but very visible mole, dark purple and in the vague form of a dragon on his hind legs, with his front paws raised in anger.

For sure Gaius remembered it now. Uther had been terribly disappointed that Arthur had been born without the mark. Morgana – luckily for her real father, as Gaius now knew – was without it, too.

Beaming from one ear to the other himself now, Gaius raised the little boy into the air, to look him in the face, a treatment not very advisable for a child just hours after birth, but excusable under the circumstances. "Well, young man, you're a true Pendragon after all, for all you being such a black devil!"

"Will you tell King Arthur?" the midwife asked eagerly, already making plans how to present her share in this revelation in the proper light.

"Of course I will…." Gaius began to say, but then he halted. After all what had happened today, neither Arthur nor Guinivere would take well to a reminder of the young King's father and the dubious circumstances of his birth. And, after all, there was no doubt that the little Prince was Arthur's legitimate son. A bit of town gossip, yes. Nothing serious. If there had been any serious doubts, Arthur would know, he had told Merlin and Merlin in turn would have told Gaius all about it.

It didn't occur to Gaius that his very close connection to Arthur and Gwen might be well known to most people. That people guarded their words therefore when he was around. And most of all, the physician didn't even dream of Merlin keeping a secret like this to himself.

Alas, Merlin had. Arthur's request had been too heartfelt for his friend and determined protector to betray the King's trust, even by talking to Gaius.

And so, disaster took its course.

"Did you tell anybody else?" Gaius asked.

"N… noooo" the midwife answered furtively, seeing her hopes dashed in his long face.

"Stay quiet about it, will you? No use talking about the old times, they weren't _that_ grand!"

The midwife nodded violently, as if her head would break off every second. Whatever he said, whatever he wanted. "Can I keep me place 'ere then?"

Gaius looked at her irritably. "Why ever not? You're Camelot's best midwife, are you not?"

"Yes, Sir, quite right, quite right. Thank ya, Sir, thank ya ever so much, an' I'll keep my mouth shut for all time."

And so she did.

Not even Alice ever heard anything about the momentous meaning of the dragon on the young Prince's shoulder.

Nobody did.


	11. With all the best intentions

**11****. With the best of intentions**

"Under no circumstances I am to be disturbed" Arthur said authoritatively whilst the guard soldier outside Gwen's chambers snapped to attention with a jerk.

Blast it, he was as loyal to his King as the next bloke but the man's concept of waking hours was – weird. Why couldn't he visit his wife at a reasonable hour? But no, it had to be in the middle of the night, or in the small hours or when the sun was grilling the castle or whenever a seasoned soldier would want to rest his eyes for a minute or two.

"Aye, My Lord, nobody but the Queen or the Head of the Council is to be presented to you whilst you're here, Sire" the guard droned out the usual protocol, but it wasn't such a good idea.

"Gods almighty, are you _deaf_ man? I said, nobody and I meant nobody. Is that understood?"

"It's four o'clock in the morning Arthur, and your voice is ringing from the walls. Just a teensy bit louder and the Court will assemble, all by themselves."

Arthur glared at Merlin who returned his angry stare with a patient, enduring smile. The kind he'd once seen on the face of a Christian saint carved in wood. The smile that told his King that he was his loyal friend, his always willing servant and that he would endure his beloved sovereign's every whim, however childish, prat-ish, idiotic and utterly stupid that sovereign might chose to behave. Merlin had developed a great talent for that smile. It was meant to chastise his King and they both knew it.

"Carry on" Arthur harrumphed at the unfortunate soldier and the man saluted his King for a farewell, not without a grateful wink at the young sorcerer who with a very Merlin-like attitude of ironic obedience sauntered inside after his master.

"You know, 'carry on' is such an awfully useful phrase, don't you think so, Sire? Whenever a knight, or a prince or any other fountain of tact and wisdom is out of his depth he just growls 'carry on' and…"

"Shut _up_, Merlin!"

His Majesty's angry order was the last thing the guard heard before the door was slammed shut behind his back.

For a second the soldier marvelled at the warlock's ability to survive such jibes, time and again, without being tied to a whipping pole or thrown in the stocks or at least sent packing for good. Heaven knew that the young King had a kind heart but he also had his father's temper and at times it was best not to tangle with him.

A hot feeling of dismay shot through the soldier all of a sudden. Speaking of the King's temper when visiting his wife at four o'clock in the morning and her Ladyship wasn't alone. Another man had entered her chambers some hours ago and only now the guard remembered that he had yet to come out again.

"_Oh hell_" the soldier thought miserably. "_Why on my watch?_ _Why is it always me?_"

He shouldn't have bothered.

Arthur greeted Gwen's visitor the second he had finished greeting her. "My Lord Duke, thank you for agreeing to meet me here at this ungodly hour."

"No hour is ungodly if it is spent on HIS behalf" Marke of Cornwall replied, dead seriously, and as always it took a considerable effort on Arthur's – and Merlin's – side not to roll their eyes, as gravity a bit overdone was the Duke's signature attitude.

"It is me who has to be grateful for this opportunity to talk things through and my special thanks go to Her Ladyship for the use of her rooms" Marke continued and Arthur suppressed an impatient sigh "_I__f we go on bowing to and complimenting each other, we can spend the night here without getting any work done_."

Therefore his next words were a bit blunter than he had planned them to be. "Let's get to business then, shall we? Guinivere, if you'll excuse us…."

"I won't" she said, gently but firmly. "This concerns me and my son as much as anyone else."

Arthur was the only one present who noticed the almost inaudible emphasis on the word '_my_' son. The blood rushed to his cheeks and made them burn; a sign Marke misunderstood as being related to him.

"Merlin here informed me that you might wish to discuss Lord Erec's fate with me" the Duke said hastily. "It has been six weeks now since his arrest and he…."

"His well being is not my concern" Arthur interrupted the other rudely while he plonked himself down on the nearest chair and signalled the others to do the same.

Lately his wife had this effect on him.

His desperate love for Gwen when he'd thought she'd die had made room for a sullen, sulking feeling that could be called by many a name. Bereaved. Ridiculed. Humiliated. The feeling grew stronger any time he held his little son in his arms.

Black eyes, black hair, light-honey skin.

Nothing like Margaly.

Lancelot's eyes. Lancelot's hair. Lancelot's skin.

Oddly enough, Arthur loved Galahad madly.

Or maybe there was nothing odd about it.

Lancelot could do nothing, nothing at all to take the little boy away from him. So perhaps Arthur Pendragon had been incapable of keeping his wife, but he would keep this child, no matter what.

To hell with Lancelot du Lac and all the precious hopes a youthfully naïve Prince of Camelot once had had for a future full of love and tenderness!

The vengeful thought determined Arthur's reaction even now and from this moment on the perspectives of the people present fell grossly apart.

From Arthur's point of view, if Gwen insisted on being part of what could only be a nasty mess of a conversation, by all means, let her. He'd hardly any opportunity to see a wife and companion in her these days; maybe she'd at least _look_ the part today.

For Guinivere, Arthur's face told her all she had to know about his feelings, as well as some things she only imagined and together they made her bite back tears that could have been made of blood. They sure hurt enough. Why, oh why couldn't he see that she was only trying to find a way out of the mess they'd brought themselves and their marriage to?

But of course, His Highness had more important things on his mind than their marriage!

There had been a time in which Merlin would have noticed the personal undercurrent in a seemingly purely political situation but, after being forced out of his depths long ago by Council matters, Algernon's demands and the King's constant manoeuvring, the warlock had lost some of his natural empathy.

In short, he had learned to focus on one point of view and on one set of moods exclusively and naturally this standpoint was, who else's should it have been, Arthur's. As a consequence, if Merlin wasn't caught up in Morgana's plans and view on life, he was caught up in her brother's, and he lacked the resources to much consider anybody else's.

In this very moment, the warlock didn't much like the frown on his King's face when Arthur leaned towards Marke. "You and your Christian friends have thought it wise to utter some threats against the realm, the Crown and _me_, should Lord Erec be executed as he deserves. I came mainly to tell you that that was not as clever as you might have thought."

"Sire, I'd never….." The old noble was crestfallen under the sudden attack but Arthur puffed himself up even more.

"Duke Marke, last time I checked I _was_ your King and you will at least have the courtesy of hearing me out, or I swear I'll make you, grey hair or no!"

Now Merlin was truly horrified. This was not at all what they had agreed on in advance. Arthur had been a paragon of peace half an hour ago, now he was a demon of wrath. What was it these days that the prat couldn't live through five minutes without getting mad with rage at anything and anyone around him?

"Letters _have_ reached the Council that the Christian Lords think it better to spare Lord Erec's life, '_or the peace of the realm might be lost_' " the warlock said reasonably, trying to calm the stormy waves ere they all drowned uselessly. "It was an ambiguously phrased message at best."

Before Arthur could bite his faithful companion's head off for speaking out of line, as he clearly wanted to do, Marke grabbed the offered life-line. "I agree that these letters were ill phrased, My Lord. But I give you my solemn word that my friends intended no threat by them. It was, correct me from wrong, our impression that Your Majesty yourself wanted to spare Lord Erec's life, if possible."

"So you and your friends undertook it to lecture my sister and me, to most solemnly berate us, in public, as the imbecilic children we are in your superior eyes and judgement!"

"We meant no disrespect …."

"Didn't you indeed. Pray tell me then, was it your _wish_ to see Erec die under the sword, so that you may have an excuse for stabbing me and Morgana in the back? If I ever intended to moderate Erec's punishment, against the expressive wish of almost all my Council, and against the law of the land, how could I do so now? Anyone would think I chickened out of the situation as soon as the Christians bared their teeth at me."

"Duke Marke has a suggestion how to solve that problem" Merlin said and Arthur darted around in his seat, glaring murderously. "_One word, just one more word, and you'll regret it_" that glare said, unmistakably.

"_Then why did you take me? Why am I here?_" Merlin's stare replied, equally silent, equally decisive. They had had this conversation before, verbally and silently, many times.

Surprisingly, it was always Arthur who backed down. Other than his father he not only knew when he was in the wrong but he also acted on it. At least sometimes. And with some people.

"And what would that suggestion be?" the King pressed out, calmer now. Obviously much more in the mood for listening than he had been before.

Arthur Pendragon would've rather suffered death and hell fire before he admitted to his servant and friend that that was why he liked to take Merlin with him. Because he didn't trust his own temper. But then, he had no need to say it because Merlin already knew.

Gwen, for one, knew it very well, too. And every time the special magic between those two worked its miracle in front of her very eyes, something rotted away inside her.

As she saw it, her husband had gone to bed with her. But as to his heart, that had not been his to give when he married her as it had already been taken for good.

She didn't have another woman for a rival. She had a male warlock. And in her worst and darkest moments, when she was all alone with her jealousy, her guilt, her despair and the knowledge that all she'd ever longed for had gone awry – in these moments she was sure that she hadn't been the only person in Arthur's bed in the past. It helped to think that, to conjure it up. Because if he had betrayed her first, her betrayal wasn't that bad any more.

Sometimes she ached so much inside that she treated herself to these fantasies, as if it was a medicine, a pain killer. Especially since that day two weeks ago when Gaius and Alice told her that another pregnancy would be her death.

As the two healers had made it abundantly clear that further sexual contact between husband and wife was out of the question, she had waited for a sign of regret, of loss in her husband's face, but she'd seen only relief.

So that was that, then. Out Guinivere, in Merlin.

A daughter. A son, at least officially. A Crown. And the best friend of all.

Who needed a wife if he had all this?

Unbeknownst to Guinivere, the chosen solace came at a high price. Slowly but surely all the warmth in her, all that had once been the living, glowing centre of many people's life was throttled and died. Every time she indulged in these base thoughts, some of her heart blood turned to poison.

As it did now.

She panted slightly and Marke looked at her, worriedly. _Marke_, not Arthur. The way her father would've looked at her, had he not been murdered by her husband's most august papá.

"I think we could kill several birds with one stone, so to speak" Marke now said hesitatingly. "If Your Majesty would allow me to talk openly…."

"Please do!"

The Duke cleared his throat and, in his usual somewhat circumstantial habit, he began to elaborate his thoughts. The essence of it was that Erec should be banished from the Kingdom for life due to an incurable mental illness Gaius would – miraculously - diagnose him with. This way his pardon wouldn't look like an act of cowardice on the King's side (naturally Marke wasn't fool enough to actually use the word 'cowardice'. He circumvented it, which prolonged the narrative of his ideas considerably.) Erec's fiefdoms and his other fortune should go to – and there the problems began.

"Surely they can only go to your nephew Tristan" Arthur smiled, already more than half won for the idea. "You're a sly old dog My Lord Duke, if you forgive me for saying so."

The Duke bowed slightly but he didn't look too happy. "I see how this would seem the only apt solution, Sire. Alas, it is not possible. I cannot accept my nephew being heir to Lord Erec's estates and fortune if I'm going to disinherit him!"

Arthur just gawked at him for a second, stunned. "First of all" he finally said "you can hardly decide both issues on your own because the fiefdoms are mine to give or withhold. Second, why on earth should you do a foolish thing like this? No dried leaf could ever be pressed between Tristan and you, ever since his parents died. He's a fine young knight, he will make a great Duke and he adores you."

"Unfortunately this is no longer so" Marke said. "You have worked hard, My Lord, you and your sister, very hard, for a balance of believes in the realm. The Branguards, their high rank and vast estates are a power base for the Old Religion, my family and friends and our entitlements are the stronghold of Christendom. If you bestow the Bodmin estate and the rest of Erec's estates on Tristan, this balance no longer holds."

"Says who?" Merlin chimed in, his head swimming. Surely the endless hours he and Geoffrey had spent over the maps, boundary plans, different sets of legal frames and countless other things that defined the fiefdoms which together formed Camelot could not have been for nothing?

"Says Tristan himself" Gwen said calmly. "Morgana told me. She wasn't too happy about it although it was the first letter she had from Morgause in a very long time. A few weeks ago, Sir Tristan arrived on the Isle of the Blessed and by the whole assembly of High Masters and Priestesses of the Isle, under the benevolent auspices of Morgause herself, he gave up his Christian faith and became an acolyte of the Old Religion, on his own request."

Marke sighed. "You see the problem, My Lord. If Tristan were to inherit first Lord Erec's estates and mine later on – "

"More than 70 % of Camelot would be in the hands of followers of the Old Religion, the rest would be neutral as it belongs to the Crown directly" Merlin droned out the figures he had taken many a torturous, boring day to learn by heart. "_And the Queen herself a sorceress and sister to the High Priestess_" he added in his mind. "_Three cheers for the end of peaceful coexistence in the realm_."

"I still don't get it" Arthur said doubtfully. "Why should Tristan do this to you?"

"Because he loves the Lady Iseult. He's always loved her. He thinks he can't live without her." Marke's face was peculiarly flushed now.

Arthur shook his head in confusion. "That's why her father promised to give her hand to your nephew in marriage as soon as they're both of age. They're to be wed come summer."

"Things have changed, Sire. We, that is my Christian friends and I… I mean, father Severinus and our bishop were convinced that….. and Erec thought too….."

"Oh heaven, spit it out man. Who thought what?"

"Erec found out that magic runs in Iseult's family. It hasn't surfaced in some generations, but it is there. Perhaps you know that the family line of Tristan's mother is not free of the abomi….." Marke's gaze flickered to Merlin and his wrinkled face reddened even more. "I mean, Tristan's own family has been known to produce sorcerers. So we – the Christian community, that is – thought that the marriage should not take place."

The old man looked very embarrassed. "As I am the last male member of the only family line which has never had any magic, I… I was persuaded… I married Iseult myself three months ago." He grinned sheepishly. "I think her to be carrying my child."

"I do beg your pardon" the King said after a while, when he'd found his voice again. "You did what?"

"I know, technically I'd needed Your Majesty's permission, but…."

"Technically" Arthur repeated while he tensed his muscles. "_**Technically**_?"

"It was a marriage of convenience and I thought…. as it doesn't really concern Camelot's interests…."

"The hell it doesn't" Arthur roared at the top of his lungs. "What were you thinking you old fool? Your nephew and heir, your brother's only son, one of my best knights, and you steal his bride, a girl hardly old enough to be your great-grandchild, you meddle with my plans without so much as asking my leave, you turn my whole realm upside down and you dare speak of _**convenience**_?"

In an instant he was up and came for the much older noble. "You're supposed to be the first aristocrat of Camelot, the highest ranking noble at my Court, even before the Branguards, and you behave like a brain-amputated, senile old peacock that's spotted a young hen?"

Just this once it was Guinivere who stopped her husband, as Merlin was too surprised by the turn of events. "You can hardly blame people for behaving like you treat them, Arthur! And what's done is done. We cannot whine over the past, we have to find a way out of this mess."

All of a sudden, Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously. Abruptly, he grabbed Gwen's hands and pushed her away from him, forcibly. "So that's what this nightly meeting is about" he hissed. "Naturally there's somebody else to taker over from Tristan, isn't there. Dear Lance has married Alaine and her claim on Erec's estate, why not make him heir to Cornwall, too? Is that it, hmh? Feathering your nest for later on My Lady, are you?"

Gwen turned ghostly pale. "What do you…."

"Tristan has proved his loyalty to me and Morgana many a time. What better plan than to oust him and bring in a man of your own trust, eh? As he's become such a devout Christian since his mock marriage. He's perfect, isn't he. He always has been. He's got no nightmares. He's not a cripple. And now that I…. _**I**_, My Lady, have made him a very rich man with a foolishly naïve girl for a wife…."

"Arthur, we aren't alone!" Gwen was trembling with horror. He would regret this, horribly regret this the second he regained his senses.

But right now, he'd clearly lost it. "Listen to me, Madam, this won't wash. You will not trade me for that sanctimonious decal of a knight, you will not make a fool of me in front of everyone, I won't let you."

"Presently you're the only one who's making a fool of you!"

Only now it occurred to Arthur that besides his best friend somebody else was witnessing events. He felt bile rising in his throat when he looked around – and saw an empty room. Somehow, somewhen Merlin had thought it wiser to take himself and the old, profoundly perplexed Duke out of the immediate danger-zone.

Violently Arthur wiped his brow and eyes with his hands before he searched Guinivere's gaze. With his wrath spent, the only thing he knew for sure was that he had overstepped a mark tonight. And for better or for worse, this couldn't be undone. "We can't go on like that, Guinivere. We just can't. Heaven knows I still love you, more than my life, but I cannot go on like this. I thought I could forget, or ignore or whatever it takes – but I can't. I'm sorry."

Gwen felt her face burn as if he'd slapped it. "It'll always be with us, it'll never give us some peace, Arthur, will it? The past, I mean. And only it's darker sides. The pleasant moments, our love, our happiness – they're fading from our memories already, aren't they."

"Yes!"

"So we can't stay together."

"No. We cannot."

The first few heartbeats were the hardest. Gwen thought the pain would suffocate her. Or at least make her faint. Or something equally dramatic. Instead she was reintroduced to a side of her character she had quite forgotten.

She nodded. She even smiled. "Then, if you would want to hear me out, I could tell you the rest of Marke's suggestion and I think it might be the perfect solution for all of us."

Outside, in a quite corner of the castle, until the sun had risen and the servants began their busy day, an unlikely couple made of a peasant warlock and a peer of the realm did the very same.

Afterwards Duke Marke shook his head. He was sure he'd never understand what drove Uther's son, not in his great moments, not in his failures. What kind of passion, what demon possessed this handsome young man – Marke would never know. Especially not when it came to Arthur's weird marriage. Apparently he couldn't live without that former handmaiden but he could not live with her, either.

However, there was one indispensable royal talent Arthur had that made up for many a weakness – the talent to win and keep valuable friends. Like this madman Gwaine, like this blacksmith's son. Like Leon. Or like Malcolm Branguard, damned heathen but one of the finest heads in the Kingdom.

Or like this young warlock. Imagine the son of Uther Pendragon risking everything to bring magic back to Camelot because a peasant boy from Ealdor had taught him, whilst serving his breakfast and washing his socks, that his father was wrong about the evils of magic.

Remarkable. Yes, that was a fitting word for both of them. Incomprehensible, weird, even crazy one moment, brilliant the other, but altogether: Remarkable. Even though thou shall not suffer a witch to live.

"_Oh Lord, to think that you should choose heathens and sorcerers to do your work on earth_" Marke thought before he went to his chambers.

It was an extremely tired warlock who informed – and convinced – Morgana to give the whole scheme her blessing. He left out the bit about Marke calling all magicians abominations unworthy of being born. Let them all think he hadn't noticed the Duke's slip of the tongue, it was better that way.

Reluctantly, Morgana agreed to the plan that had been made. But not before she had declared that they would have a little daylight nap – as Merlin clearly needed one – and later on they'd practice magic and no mistake. And as to this little nap…..

"Morgause surely thought she might finally get Cornwall out of Tristan's conversion" the Queen said as Merlin curled up beside her later on, still glowing from her body's heat and his.

"I thought, as a 'daughter of the Goddess' or whatever she's called since she was officially made High Priestess, she cannot hold worldly office."

"But if she were to be declared Duchess she could name a proxy of her own choosing and he wouldn't be a Christian!"

"And that's exactly why she can forget about that. Arthur would never allow it. He can't, even if he wanted to." Merlin chuckled softly. "I think, right now he'd like to. The Christians are in his bad book I shouldn't wonder." He robbed even closer and hugged her when he closed his eyes. Gods, he was tired.

"Morgause will be furious" Morgana said stubbornly.

"Isn't she always" he muttered sleepily.

"No good will come from this" the Queen whispered. "Not from Marke's wedding. And not from Erec staying alive."

"There's nothing we can do against Marke's wedding" Merlin replied, already mumbling as he was half asleep. "And for Erec – if he died we might well have another civil war on our hands. So we better kick him out and good riddance."

"I hope you're right. But it's so sad. Arthur and Gwen. I thought that would last forever and a day."

Merlin didn't answer. He was fast asleep.

He didn't know it, but his own love had made him a bit more egoistic than he had been before. And then – it had taken him embarrassingly long but in the end even he had understood that it had been Gwen's adultery which had spoiled things for Arthur. That Gwen was responsible for Arthur feeling low when he should be on the very peak of his life.

And for Camelot's Court Sorcerer one thing was as plain as a pike staff, not because he had given it much thought but, honestly, because he had never really thought about it at all: If he had to make a choice, the royal siblings would come first. Always. And in anything.

So, to him, it was Guinivere's fault. As it had been Uther's fault before. Not that he didn't pity Gwen. Had it been in his power, he'd done anything to make things better for her. He did pity her, a lot. But he pitied Arthur more and he always would.

Therefore, troubled and worried as he was, Merlin still lay in Morgana's arms at peace with himself and with his life.

On the next morning the Court was assembled and everybody played his – or her – part.

The trial against Erec proceeded in due course; Gaius had a great entry and speech. There was a lot of restlessness and murmuring when the King's wife, only recently recovered from an almost lethal child-bed, formally pleaded for Lord Erec's life, as her – obviously also recently found – Christian conscience did not allow her to keep silent.

Arthur and Morgana graciously granted her request, everybody was touched. Even those who had relished in the thought of seeing Erec die became sentimental and the Lord's banishment was actually cheered. Well, not by him, but who gave a damn. He would be escorted to the nearest harbour, put on a ship to wherever the wind would blow and – farewell My Lord and please stay away from Albion's merry shores."

"Shipping out inconvenient fellows might yet become a Camelot tradition" a self-styled jokester told his companions, hinting at Uther's banishment.

He got a few laughs but not many as the next announcements were much more interesting. Erec's estates would go to Cornwall – half of it, and the other half would go – to the Branguards, by special permit of the Crown Council.

A beaming Angus pocketed once more the title and claims of Bodmin, although it was a bit reduced in size and value.

Arthur, Morgana and Geoffrey had trouble smiling whilst they bent one of Camelot's most ancient and wisest precautionary laws but – it's always better to smile than to weep when you have got no choice.

For a long while the two Branguards were the most sought after people in all of Camelot.

Marke got permission to finish the church Erec had founded and somewhat later Galahad was christened in this very church, with Marke as his only godfather and potential guardian.

People murmured and shuffled their feet when after the first ceremony a second christening was announced. Her Ladyship the King's wife looked very pretty when she was officially made a Christian and her pronouncement that she would withdraw to a Christian order for a time of meditation and better lessoning in the new faith was very touching, too.

Doubtlessly she would come back later on and all the gossiping and talking about her had been just that – gossip and talk. My, she had looked so very lovely in that church, had she not. And two healthy royal heirs, in such a short time. A fine woman their King had taken for a wife, a fine woman indeed.

That was what people thought and in their enthusiasm about the lavish feast, the food, the drink and everything else that accompanied the little Prince's arrival in this world they just forgot that no date had been fixed for Guinivere's return.

The King's wife left in great style a few days later, her brother and Sir Leon as the leaders of her escort at her side in full knightly splendour, and the people who cheered her heartedly did not know that she had had to say good bye to her children all alone, that her husband had been invisible and had left it to his sister and friends to see her off.

The people were kept equally ignorant of Morgause's tactical reaction to the spoiling of her plan for driving a wedge between Christians and the Old Religion in Camelot.

Arthur was absent from the castle when first Alined's, then Marke's messengers arrived. The King of Camelot was out hunting, together with most of his remaining knights and although Merlin could not for the life of him understand why the poor innocent animals should suffer the brunt of Arthur's unhappiness, he was at his friend's side, as always.

So Morgana received the message, only Geoffrey, Gaius and Malcolm Branguard at her side.

She read the pompously sealed and decorated letters, swallowed once and gave them to the others.

"Well. That was quick work on your sister's side. There's no doubt that she's behind this" Gaius said, much calmer than he felt. Malcolm nodded. "Aye. Both of it. Well timed, well planned. I grant her that."

"Would you leave me alone, please" Morgana said, out of the blue. She clearly had an idea, one she did not want to share with them.

"But Your Majesty, the King must be informed this instant. This could easily grow into a full scale crisis" Geoffrey remonstrated heatedly.

"Whoever informs my brother about these two letters before he comes back from his hunt will lose his head by my own hand. Is that clear? Leave Arthur in peace for a day or two, for heaven's sake!"

There was more to the Queen's fury than a distorted face and shining eyes. The air around her crackled and it wasn't a pleasant feeling on the skin. It was rumoured that it could leave blisters. Or worse.

As a result, Morgana rarely needed to give an order twice. In the blink of an eye everyone had vanished.

Everyone but Gaius, the only one except Arthur and Merlin who wasn't in awe of Morgana's instinctive reactions. "What are you going to do, child?" Somehow he had come back to calling her that, as if the time in which they had been bitter enemies had never existed.

"What I have to. I promised my brother to stand by him and Camelot when we took over and whatever choices my sister has made; I've made mine for good."

Briefly he thought that she had murdered her father without her brother's knowledge and against his express wishes. But Gaius knew better than to mention that. She would say that she acted in Arthur's and Camelot's best interest and although his heart ached terribly any time he thought of Uther, how could he contradict her? Most probably she was right.

"There is something you should know, Morgana. Something you must consider before you make any choices."

"Do not lecture me on morals again, old man. I wear a Crown, I can't afford them!"

"That's a hard thing to say."

"It's even harder to ignore. Look at my brother. He's always tried to reconcile the two and look what it has brought him to. Do you still recognize the golden child in the wretched man?"

"It's not Arthur I'm concerned about, it's you."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're with child, Morgana. Merlin's child, no doubt. I found out yesterday, when I examined you."

Gaius kept his worries to himself. The greatest warlock ever, a dragonlord, had fathered the child of a destroyer. Many, many people would want to get hold of such a child. Gaius felt sick when he thought of it. And the secret, Morgana's secret, which could be Morgause's undoing, it would surely be revealed. The Isle would want the child to be destroyed, as a mistake nature should never have made. Khilgarrah himself would want to... but Merlin would never….. Don't think about that now, old man. It's all in the future. For now there's a young woman who's your only concern. "You should be careful, child. The pregnancy might be – exceptional in a way."

She was still staring at him, dumbfounded. "But I thought... I mean, I was sure... the books say I cannot have a child, because you once said I'm a...people like me cannot have children."

"_You haven't born it yet, have you_" Gaius thought "_and maybe you never should_", but he wasn't the kind of man to say such a thing to a woman's face, especially not if this woman had begun radiating a warm, almost palpable joy and happiness from somewhere deep within. "Obviously the books were wrong then" he said instead. "Female magicians with your kind of powers are extremely rare, maybe that's why."

The Queen smiled at him, radiantly, the way she had done when she had been a child herself, before all the misery, the betrayals, the misunderstandings and it felt as if his heart should break.

Gaius chastised himself inwardly. She had been so very trusting when he had examined her yesterday, he could have given her a potion, she'd been sick and bleeding for a few days and she'd never known….. but Alice would have found out. And it was Merlin's child, too. Anyway, he hadn't done it and now it was too late. There was only one thing left to say. "Morgana, magic ran strong in your mother's family, for many a generation. Merlin is – unique, you might say. Keep the pregnancy secret for as long as you can. Will you?"

"When?" Morgana asked excitedly and he knew she hadn't been listening. "When will it come?"

"Barely six months from now. In august."

The next instant Gaius was hugged ferociously, a kiss was pecked on his cheek and then he saw a multi-coloured, silk-clad creature buzzing off with a "sorry, I must dash" flowing in the air behind her.

Only now he remembered the two sinister letters he had read earlier. "Morgana, what are you going to do?" he shouted.

But he was already alone with his feeling of impending doom.

Meanwhile the Queen ran through the castle corridors at top speed until she reached the nursery where Margaly greeted her enthusiastically. "No, sweetie you must be patient for once, I've not come for you. I've come for your little brother. You know, your auntie Morgause is a bit angry with us because we've let him have a Christian name giving and I'm going to do something about that."

15 minutes later the Queen left the castle for the lakeside forest, a sleepy little Galahad in her arms and a very disappointed Margaly left behind in the nursery.

Morgana took all necessary care to avoid the royal hunting party and she reached the lakeside unseen and unheard. "Come on Your Royal Highness, we'll see to it that you get a proper name and when the time is right we'll tell Morgause all about you being a true son of the Old Religion. That'll make her happy and then we can talk her out of these stupid schemes she's plotting against your father."

A bit clumsy but undauntedly she ploughed through the preparations for the ceremony as best she could while Galahad enjoyed the sunny day and the exclusive attention he got. All went well until she reached the point where the name of the child must be spoken aloud for the very first time. She shied away from using 'Galahad', as this was the name given to him in a Christian baptizing. She ransacked her brain for a proper name from the Old Faith, but couldn't think of one.

Until she remembered the first magician she'd ever come to know more closely, the one with whom the exploration of her own magic had begun. The first magician whose life her brother had saved, in defiance of every single order and every lesson Uther had ever given him.

Morgana raised the sacred chalice she had brought until it sparkled phenomenally in the sunlight. "The four elements welcome you to this world, Mordred, son of Arthur and Guinivere.

A gust of ice-cold wind shook the trees and the sun vanished behind a cloud when she proceeded, but Morgana didn't see it.


	12. Karma

**1****2. Karma**

Morgana returned to the castle from the secret name giving in the forest as a very happy woman. She firmly believed that this symbolic gesture would give Morgause a much craved assurance. It would convince her elder sister that there was nothing to fear from Camelot and her Christians. Not as long as Morgana and Arthur ruled the realm.

However, it did nothing of the kind. Behind her brother's – and Merlin's – back, Morgana sent message after message to the High Priestess. When they all went unanswered, the Queen went as far as to beg her sister to give the child her official blessing, knowing full well that this might provoke the Christian community beyond endurance.

Morgause's indirect answer, when it arrived, shattered every hope for peace Morgana had still harboured. Two months after the King's son had been named Mordred, the Queen stood face to face with the shambles of her reconciliation plan.

As it turned out, the first two messages from Alined and Marke had only been the first warnings of greater trouble yet to come.

Since then King Alined had taken in Sir Tristan as a fugitive – and the young Iseult with him.

Marke was a broken man. Not only had he lost his beloved nephew but the young man had not fled from Camelot's ground without the woman he loved and in Alined's castle, with the King's express blessings, Tristan had been wed to Marke's wife by the High Master of the Blessed Isle himself.

Armand of Morgwyn could not have treated the earlier Christian marriage with more contempt.

Everybody said it had been a most lavish feast and that it had been crowned by Alined's most solemn oath to join the 'war for justice and right', which the Isle of the Blessed had declared on Marke of Cornwall, the evil destroyer of peace, the immoral scoundrel, the traitor to every law in Albion, offender of the Great Mother…..And what not.

Morgause, as the High Priestess, ultimately demanded of Camelot not only to declare Marke's claim to Cornwall null and void and to outlaw the old Duke, but also to deliver him to the Isle's justice, as it was for the Old Religion, not for Marke's royal liege, to judge the old man.

Marke's desperate plea for help and support from Camelot arrived on the very same day as Alined's formal declaration of his alliance with the wronged High Priestess.

Arthur called for a Council Meeting and the vote, after ten minutes of debate, was unanimous: War!

Not one man, may he be high ranking noble, knight or commoner, voted against it. Camelot would take up the banner to support Marke, against the Isle of the Blessed. No further debate was able to change the verdict.

Nobody said it but everyone thought it – the great experiment that had been at the very root of Arthur's and Morgana's rule, the reconciliation of the Old Religion with the new circumstances Uther's Great Purge had helped to create, had failed.

Once more the Pendragon dynasty would go to war with the Blessed Isle.

When the first rumours spread like wildfire, many a magician imagined a cold gust of wind blowing into his face and shivers of apprehension ran down many a spine.

And yet the upcoming war had a fervent supporter in the most unlikely falcons in Camelot's Council: Algernon and many of his compatriots openly defied their Elders' order to keep up peace at any costs. The once timid Druids spoke loudly for war.

Arthur wasn't too pleased; anyone – except a crestfallen, gobsmacked young warlock from Ealdor – could see that. Yet not even the Branguards sided with their King's obvious – if unvoiced – wishes in this.

True enough, Uther's reign had once done much damage to peace and balance of the realm. But no one desired the return of the old times in which an almighty Priesthood of the Blessed Isle had had the last word in almost anything.

Malcolm of Branguard put it in a nutshell: Cornwall's vast riches would enable the Isle to play an independent rule in the game of power. The men who profited vastly from Uther's system of secular rule would never allow this. Morgause had crossed a line and unless she would be put in her shoes, no man of substance could sleep peacefully in his bed.

Arthur looked into their faces. If he were to lose this war, these very same men would doubtlessly come to an agreement with the Blessed Isle. Cut their losses; ensure their survival even though their position had been lost. But if he _refused_ to fight now, these men would dispose of him and try to fend for themselves as best they could. Camelot would be torn apart. Either way the Pendragons would perish - his sister, his children and anyone foolish enough to stick with him until the end.

So if the war could not be avoided, he might as well try and hold fast to what he had. "I've heard your arguments and advice My Lords" the King said. He hesitated before he continued "And I agree!"

Leon, Gwaine, Percy and the other knights as well as Gaius and Geoffrey looked at their feet. It was all too obvious that this was an outrageous lie. Morgana kept silent, too. There was no need to explain her brother's thoughts to her. Uther had brought up both his children to take a throne – and keep it.

However, opposition came from as unlikely a front as love of war had done: Merlin fervently disagreed with anything that had been said. In his opinion they were all biased and had a one-sided definition of right and wrong. He spoke as eloquently as he spoke unwisely and he was shouted down so threateningly that Gaius - and Arthur - hastily claimed an urgent need for the warlock's presence in an ad hoc war council of King and knights.

As it was, Arthur's first official act as commander-in-chief was to postpone the war powwow until the next day, "to give anyone some time to think it over", as he said, conveniently – if only for him – leaving the exact meaning of these words in the dark.

Merlin glared at Arthur's disappearing back, resolved to have a word with the bloodthirsty prat. It was Gwaine who held him back. "Forget it, my friend. He doesn't like this any more than you do. But he's got no choice."

"He is the King!" Merlin protested heatedly.

"Yes" Leon confirmed with uncharacteristic livid sarcasm "exactly."

Merlin turned his back without another word. _Warriors_! He'd surely find no understanding here. Gaius called after him but Merlin didn't want to listen, as nobody was willing to listen to _him_.

Morgana wasn't a source of solace to her lover either, as she didn't dream of opposing a unanimous Council Vote. "No divide et impera this time, sweetheart" was all she said before she too vanished from sight.

Merlin was too upset to see that she was torn apart in the middle. Her brother would go to war with her sister. Again! Only this time Morgause would fight without her sister's aid. All of Morgana's dreams, all their efforts had come to nothing, as peace between the past and the future, between the Old Religion and the new one, had lasted barely a year.

The Queen went to the armoury where she found her brother. Silently they both took up their swords. Methodically, untiringly they laid waste to the soldiers' training ground until nothing was left intact. Only afterwards they felt capable of talking things through in private.

Merlin, however, was still resolved to bring them all to their senses. And he started with the main culprit: Algernon.

Said Algernon sighed when he saw the, as usual, most unwilling saviour of the Druids coming. This would be no easy, friendly chat. Even so he'd not thought the warlock would be _that_ furious.

"What the hell did you think you're doing in there" Merlin yelled as soon as they were in the forest, out of earshot from castle and town. "You, a Druid? Talking for war? Actually calling for it, on Marke's behalf? The man despises us, all of us. He once said….."

"I know what he said, Emrys. And yes, I _am_ a Druid. A leader of my people. Camelot, the way it is, the way Arthur and Morgana have rebuild it, grants us peace and freedom. We can find nothing but slavery in a renaissance of the Isle's rule. The High Priestess is claiming our _children_; Alined threatens to take them by force, in case you've forgotten"

"So you would fight other magicians? Kill our own kind, for a bunch of nobles who'd sell us all to Uther's Great Purge tomorrow, if he rose from his grave with a thick purse?"

"How come I think you're asking not me but yourself?" Algernon retorted with some irony.

Merlin looked away. Angrily he kicked the ground with his foot. He would have _loved_ to smother the insolent Druid with a sharp answer but, as a rule, the fine cutting speeches were still Arthur's resort.

Algernon looked at him and he lost the urge to smile about the younger magician. Poor boy. What a destiny, to be torn apart by diverging loyalties, whatever he did, wherever he turned.

Merlin was still stubbornly staring at the ground under his feet. "Magic against magic" he said after a while. "Sorcerer against sorcerer. It's hard to believe."

"Why? You've done it before. How many sorcerers have you defeated, killed even, in the Pendragons' service?"

"But I thought it was _over_. Magic has returned to Camelot. Arthur has undone the evil his father caused!"

"The past _cannot_ be undone, Emrys. Arthur has healed many of the wounds his father inflicted but he cannot make the memory or the pain vanish into thin air. Sorcerers are human beings, with all the frailties of mankind. They can be greedy, lusting for power, or striving for revenge, as fallible as the next man."

"So that's it then. We'll go on fighting and killing to all eternity and in the end we'll be buried and forgotten."

"If you do not think Arthur's cause a worthy one, what've you been fighting for in the past? It's still the same, Camelot against evil. As this has always been your definition of evil, Emrys. Your side is good and the others' side is wrong, magic or otherwise."

"If you have a better definition, you tell me!" Merlin still was visibly furious.

"I don't. And believe me - it took me a lifetime of thinking and finally resigning to that. Values and ethics and the lot - it's more than worth fighting for. Or dying for, if you're such an old war-seasoned pacifist as I am. But when bad comes to worse – I'm flawed, my friend. I'm a true believer who's not cut out for Holy Wars. Those I love I will not let suffer. Not if I can avoid it."

Merlin huffed irritably. "And you think this war will steer clear of the Druids? You'll be caught right in the middle, if you want my prognosis."

"We _are_ already caught, Emrys, all of us. Between two evils. And for me, for my people and, forgive me, for _you_, the Isle's downfall is the lesser of the two."

'Emrys' pondered that for a while. "So it was all useless" he finally sighed. "There will be no revival of the Old Religion."

Suddenly at the end of his tether, Algernon gave the younger man a hard push. "_Mer_lin" he said angrily "as long as an honest magician can warm his ass and eat his soup at Camelot's fires without fearing for his head, that's all the Religion I need, old or otherwise!" With that, the Druid walked away and let the great Emrys stay in the woods for as long as he liked.

Which was perfectly fine for the angry warlock. And yet he would not find the quiet spot he needed to come to terms with everything.

"_Merlin._"

The warlock ignored the urgent whisper inside his head.

"_**Mer**__lin_!"

The warlock flinched and rolled his eyes.

"_**MERLIN**__!_"

"_What the devil do you want, Khilgarrah?_" Merlin thought back defiantly. "_I've not heard from you in ages_."

"_But I've heard all the more from you_. _All this last year I've been sitting in my cave worrying about you and Arthur. But of course __you don't need me any more, oh most august Court Sorcerer of Camelot._"

"_And sure as hell, I didn't call you now either_."

"_No, but Morgause did, with dear Armand's most selfless support. Must've used every spell in her great recipe book in order to break your hold over me. My head aches._"

"_Go and see a healer. Tell Morgause you're on sick leave."_

"_**M! E! R! L! I! N!**_"

That sent one young Dragonlord's backside to the ground. "_All right, all right, what do you want_?"

The air around Merlin rushed and roared when the Great Dragon landed by his side. "I can tell you what I most certainly do _not_ want" Khilgarrah snorted aggressively. "I neither wish to aid Armand in his mad struggle to turn the sacred island into a military dictatorship nor to witness Camelot becoming a Christian monastery. I've seen more than enough piously burning pyres in my day, I'm sick of it."

"That makes two of us" Merlin had to admit, much to his chagrin. "So what do you suggest?"

Khilgarrah looked down.

Up.

Left.

Right.

His claws dug into the ground; subsequently he found something extremely interesting under his left wing. He inspected this something at great length before his head resurfaced. "I don't know" he said, avoiding the warlock's gaze. "I thought _you_ might come up with something."

When Merlin just gawked at him disbelievingly, the Dragon took his refuge with anger, howling like an enraged wolf. "Year after year you came to me for advice. Once, just _once_ I'd like to see _you_ do all the thinking."

"That's what you came for" the warlock said. It was a statement, not a question. "Well, here _is_ my thinking: Get lost!"

Dragonlord or no, Merlin sidestepped quickly when Khilgarrah's head shot towards him, all teeth bared. "You can't lay blame on me, young warlock. I've told you before: The evil that comes from your decisions is your doing. You've put this burden on your shoulders, now don't you dare whine and run from it."

"Oh, go back to your cave. You'd never fight the Blessed Isle, you're _part_ of it."

The big head darted upwards again when the Dragon straightened his back. "As are you, young warlock. And yet something tells me you've made up your mind."

"I have" Merlin muttered, barely audible. "I'll be with Arthur and Morgana. As always."

"Naturally" the Dragon sighed. "My Dragonlord is a maker of destinies. I will be proud to follow him."

Merlin swallowed hard with awkwardness. He hated such pompous moments; they made him feel puffed-up too big for his skin and horribly small and petty at the same time.

"Wherever he leads" Khilgarrah confirmed his first statement. "_If_ he leads at all."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that the time has come in which the greatest warlock of all can no longer rely on anyone to show him the way. The young Pendragon was done for, the path to the Golden Age destroyed on the day of Osric's ritual. But you and the people around you, you've grabbed destiny since then, with both hands, and forced it on a new, unheard-of path. For that, the future is yours. It is no longer mine to see."

"It was, correct me from wrong" Merlin retorted "my impression that, whenever I acted alone in the past, you always loathed my decisions."

"True but irrelevant, as that wasn't what I meant."

"Oh, no?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then pray tell me, what _are_ we talking about?"

Khilgarrah frowned. "About y_our_ conscience. _Your_ beliefs. About no longer having a given destiny or some age old prophecy from the crystal cave for an excuse. You were quick of the mark when it came to telling Arthur what choices he had to make. What will you do if _you_ have to choose? A friend or a future? What you want or what is right?"

"Did you eavesdrop on my conversation with Algernon?"

"Naturally. And I don't agree with him."

Merlin gave it up. The more they talked the less he understood.

"Enough babbling, Khilgarrah. Are you with us or with the Blessed Isle?"

"Oh, it's '_us_' now, is it. Well, then, I'm with you, as I said, and with the young Pendragon."

"Pendragon_**s**_" Merlin said loudly, emphasizing the plural 's'.

Khilgarrah cocked his head and Merlin heard him snarl a bit. "No, young warlock. There is no Pendragon_**s**_ for me. Just Arthur. But you, you've never chosen wisely on that score. Beware to choose unwisely again."

"Stop slandering Morgana. I'd rather you tell me what you want for a reward."

The Great Dragon let his shoulders sink a bit. "I want you to promise me to not heed Algernon's advice too much. There's more at stake than not letting those you love suffer. Much more. Chose your steps wisely and never with your heart alone. That's all I want."

"If you say there's nobody left I can rely upon why shouldn't I listen to my heart?" Merlin stood there; ready to fight a world with his bare hands. "I _love_ her. Do you have _any_ idea what that word means?"

Sadly Khilgarrah shook his head. With one powerful flap of his wings he lifted his body up from the ground. "Those who _do_ evil do not always _want_ evil, Merlin" he said. "That's why the way to hell is paved with good intentions."

He circled the warlock closely as he continued "I've given you my word, therefore I'll come to you in your hour of greatest need. Choose wisely when to call for me and what to ask of me. After that, I may not be able to come to you again."

Merlin watched him disappear in the clouds. For a while he racked his brain. What the hell had the Dragon meant?

But soon enough his thoughts returned to the events that had brought him here. The end of the Golden Age, before it had really begun. Suddenly Merlin felt very cold. Cold and miserable.

At long last he climbed to his feet and headed home. He would talk to Gaius; Gaius had always known what to make of the Dragon's riddles. And most of all he'd talk to Arthur and Morgana. And Gwaine and Leon and… Merlin thought that he had a lot of talking to do, to a lot of people and some talks would consist mostly of apologies.

Algernon was right, Merlin thought while he trotted along. In the end it was your friends that really mattered, nothing else. Those you loved.

From the hilltop where Camelot came first into view the warlock looked down on his home and saw a horse galloping uphill at top speed.

Morgana was breathless when she reached him. Her cheeks glowed and her whole face was radiant. "Merlin! I know what to do. Morgause will back off. There will be no war."

With increasing apprehension Merlin listened to her as she explained her idea to him. The Dragon's warning somehow seemed more understandable than before. "What makes you think Morgause will listen to you? Why should she? She knows who and what you are, so does Armand. Why should this 'demonstration' change anything?"

Morgana's temper flared up instantly. "What do you know about her and me? I tell you, it will work. It was a mistake, meeting her half way, making one compromise after another. If I show her what she's up against, that not all powerful magic is under the Isle's heel, she'll back off and listen. I know my sister!"

"But Arthur….."

"This has nothing to do with my brother. Knights and fortifications, wars and politics I gladly leave to him" her tongue stumbled slightly over the word 'gladly' but not enough to make her stop "yet if it comes to magic, Arthur has no say. Morgause may be the High Priestess but I'm the head of magic in Camelot."

"Are you?" Merlin said without thinking, honestly surprised by that statement. As he loved them both – if in completely different ways – he'd never given the precarious balance between the siblings much thought.

"Oh don't be childish sweetheart" the Queen said impatiently. "I know you're powerful too. But you see, for Morgause that doesn't count for much. Yet she'd never fight against me in all earnest. It's just a question of who's more determined to have her way."

"Morgana, my love, I'm not sure this is such a good idea after all…."

"Do you love me or not?" she burst out, close to tears. Resolved as she was to prevent a war between her closest and dearest, a war that would destroy anything she'd fought for, Morgana couldn't bear this resistance from the man she loved, the man she'd relied upon to be the first to support her. "Fine, go ahead, coward. Who needs you, anyway. We can do without your help, thank you very much!"

"We?" Merlin said uselessly. What he really thought was "_you and which army_?"

"Gwaine has agreed to accompany me" Morgana said loftily. "At least some men know what is due to their Queen."

"Gwaine? Gwaine is in this with you? But he's a knight now, what if Arthur…"

"Oh to hell with my brother. Sword and strength are useless here. It's just that Gwaine didn't want me to go alone; not after he'd heard Gaius saying that I'm …." Morgana stopped herself in the very last moment. "Never mind" she said, suddenly sobered. "You're right of course. One of us has to stay in Camelot. Arthur may well have need of a strong magician. And I'll be back in no time."

Only when she turned to mount her horse, Merlin really gathered that she was about to leave him, and in the worst mood and false impression possible. "Morgana, wait" he screamed and in this instant all warnings, from Dragons, healers, Druids or others were forgotten. He grabbed Morgana's shoulders just as she grabbed her belly with a short yelp.

They both felt it in the same second. Morgana with an unbelievable joy and a rush of assurance that she was doing the right thing for the right reasons. Merlin with breathtaking surprise and disbelief. And yet he knew at once what he felt. Or, rather, whom he felt.

Their daughter. Their little daughter had moved. Had kicked her mother for the very first time. "_I'm here_" the merry presence called in his mind. "_Can you see me? Who's out there? I'm here_."

"When did you think you'd tell me?" he asked hoarsely. "When your belt would burst? Or only after the birth of my child?"

She gnawed on her lower lip. But then, being Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot, she just turned round, threw her arms around him for dear life and made the best of what she had. "Don't you see you stupid oaf, I'm doing this for her. For _us_! We've fought so hard, my love. For peace, for justice for our kind. Our daughter shouldn't grow up in a world of war and destruction. Merlin, please." She looked into his face through a veil of tears, her face smeared, her nose running and her eyes puffy and yet he thought she'd never been more beautiful.

"Ahem" a voice said from behind. "So sorry for disturbing you. Desolated, in fact. But if we want to come away unnoticed….."

Merlin turned, instinctively he brought himself between Morgana and the newcomer, before he, with a sigh of relief, recognized the uniform of the Round Table. "Gwaine!"

"The very same, at your service. I've stolen a few horses from the King's stable for the Queen's use and one for you, oh mighty Court Sorcerer. If Her Majesty wants to get away before His Majesty breathes fire down our necks, we should make haste."

Somehow Merlin knew that he was about to be trampled down by both of them and by their sheer resolve not to take 'no' for an answer. But he hadn't it in him to refuse them either. As if they'd trained for the moment all three mounted and, as Gwaine had said, 'made haste'.

Later on, when they'd made camp for the night and Morgana was browsing through her things – great sorceress or no, her bags were still significantly bigger than the men's – Merlin pushed his elbow into Gwaine's side. "What were you up to? Why did you agree to go with her? You could've told Arthur to stop her."

The knight scrutinized his friend with an enigmatic face. "If the Lady wants to go, she will go, no Arthur, no Council and certainly neither poor me nor poor you will stop her. Should she go alone? Your girl? With my best friend's child in her belly?"

Merlin blushed hotly. "_You_ knew?"

"No reason to bristle your quills, I just eavesdropped on friend Gaius. Heard a female voice in his study, it wasn't Alice's so I got curious. You know me.

"Don't I" Merlin growled softly. "Gossiper! Does your wife know you stalk other women?"

"My wife is clever, she doesn't mind me wetting my appetite outdoors as long as I eat at home" Gwaine replied with a twinkle.

"But you brought a horse for me, too."

"Guilty as charged. But, please don't tell her or she'll skin me alive, it wasn't my idea."

"Whose idea was it?"

"Arthur's."

Merlin jumped. "_Arthur's?_"

"The one and only. Told me that you'd never let her go on her own and if you did, you're not the man he took you for. Wants you to bring her back in one piece, and the baby too."

That took the wind out of the warlock's sail. "He too knew before I did?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "The _Queen_ is with child a bit in advance of her wedding; a wedding, as I may add, that's not even scheduled. _Of course_ she's informed her brother. He's happy for you both, by the way. Has no idea what to do about it and how to tell the others when the time comes, poor bugger, but happy nonetheless. As royals come, the man's a marvel."

Merlin tried to gather his wits. It was too much, too fast, from too many different angles. A target on the training ground might feel like he did. Again he wished he'd had a chance to talk to Gaius before he left. What was it that Arthur always said when half a dozen unpostponable problems were on his desk at the same time the solutions of which were mutually exclusive? First things first!

So, no more baby talk for Merlin Emrys before he felt up to it.

"How come Arthur knows of Morgana's plan? She said …."

"I know what she said" Gwaine said softly but urgently. "Arthur can't give the scheme his official blessing. He would love anything that settles this quietly, yet the Christians are beleaguering him with demands 'to get rid of the magic vermin like your father would've done'. End of quote. If Morgana can kick some sense into her sister – good for anyone. If she fails, the Christians shouldn't know about it. Sooner or later they _will_ fly at her and Arthur will not let her down. He'd have that bit of fun later rather than sooner, compris? It's shitty, but that's how it is."

"It's politics" Merlin said sadly. That he had called Arthur a bloodthirsty prat earlier weighed heavily on his mind suddenly.

"Yeah" Gwaine replied. "_Shitty_ politics."

All at once, the warlock was sick of it all. To hell with Camelot. This snake pit of criss-crossing interests or murmuring, whispering rumours and schemes was not what he had been dreaming of. How was it possible that Arthur had known it would be like that all the time and had yet wanted this for a life? Or had he? How much choice did one have if one had been born a Crown Prince?

Merlin's head ached. "I think I'll turn in" he said listlessly.

"You do that" Gwaine replied, only to add, after a brief hesitation "she needs you, you know. I'd never thought it possible, but she adores you. Leon still doesn't like her much but even he sees it."

Merlin turned and wanted to go to the small tent when Gwaine's voice stopped him once more. "You do not believe in her plan, do you."

"It's dangerous" the warlock replied reluctantly.

"Very?"

"Yes, very."

"For whom?"

The warlock thought about it before he answered. "For anyone." He fought for words. "Her magic is… different."

With one swift movement Gwaine was on his feet. "I do not pretend to know much about your gifts my friend. But this better worked. This war can't be won by swords and armour."

For a second Merlin wanted to tell him about the Dragon's warnings, Gaius' hints at the dangers of Morgana's gifts, of a dead horse in the woods – of everything he'd kept buried deep in his soul for so long. But in the end he just nodded. "I know it can't" he said "and don't you worry. Once more we magical monstrosities will save the day, so that all the decent, respectable men of substance can sleep peacefully in their beds!"

"You're not doing it for them, you know."

"Then for what" the warlock retorted snappily. "For the love of Camelot?"

The knight cocked his head towards Morgana who had by now curled up on her bedroll inside the tent with, careless as ever, the tent flap wide open. Or was it an invitation?

"What else is there to fight for?" Gwaine grinned. "You're still a lucky bastard, Merlin. Especially as I'm going to take the first watch."


	13. The Sacred Gifts

**13. The Sacred Gifts**

From the hill's height Merlin looked at the peaceful village. It seemed so tranquil, forgotten by all evil. "It's hard to believe they're under an insidious siege."

"And you're supposed to be the peasant in our midst" Morgana snorted disdainfully. "Look at the fields. The rye should be blooming. Where is it?"

"The grow rye here?" Gwaine stepped in when he saw Merlin's guilt stricken face. Once, after a few glasses of ale, the warlock had confessed that, even though he'd been born a peasant, he was hopeless as a farmer. Rye or wheat or millet – he could hardly tell them apart. "Small wonder your mother sent you off to live with Gaius" Gwaine had drily stated. "Too much lofty magic in your head to care for the plants growing from the ground." Merlin had denied that only partly. "I _did_ care. I wanted them all to grow and thrive. Especially the pretty, bright-coloured ones." Gwaine still fondly remembered the endearing, helpless shrug that had accompanied the warlock's next words: "How was I to know that the pretty ones were weed and the plain ones were for food?"

"Some barley, but mostly rye and oat in turn" Morgana now replied, bringing Gwaine back to the here and now. "Ever since it came to us after Cendred's death, the region has been the main supplier for both in all of Camelot. With our own suppliers still suffering from war time damages, neither our soldiers nor our horses will go very far if this region's harvest fails us."

"A logical choice for Morgause's first strike" Merlin made good on his former blunder. Other than his farming skills his understanding for military matters had grown tremendously over the years.

As had his sense for vengeful propriety in others. Now that the uneasy truce between a High Priestess and a peasant warlock had come to an end, _this_ village's unhappiness was a top priority for Morgause.

Morgana guffawed mirthlessly. "All twelve villages in this region had a bad harvest on their last winter seed, without any identifiable reason the plants just didn't thrive. Now these same villages have lost their water supplies. That's not a coincidence."

"And Morgause herself brought this problem to your attention?"

"With her first message" Morgana confirmed Gwaine's assumption. "She didn't claim responsibility, but it was clearly a threat. Back then I thought it to be a warning shot, a show of power. Now I know it's an outright attack where it hurts us most. Our army or these peasants – someone will go hungry this year and Arthur will be blamed for it."

"No he won't" Merlin said with some determination that earned him an astonished side-glance from Gwaine. "After all we came to put your sister in her place! Right?"

After a second of silence, the warlock's strained face turned towards the Queen. "Right, Morgana?"

Morgana swallowed visibly before she answered. "Yes. And we can as well start now!"

She spurred her horse to a light trot down the gentle slope that led to the village. Head and back erect, but her hands were slightly trembling.

"She's taking it hard" Gwaine muttered softly.

Merlin just nodded.

"You know" the knight went on "I've always thought she'd betray Arthur in the end, but never her sister. Now I feel..."

"Idiotic?" Merlin hissed back poisonously.

Gwaine cocked a brow and frowned, but then his face softened. "_You've thought exactly the same my friend_" he mused silently. "_You don't like her plan one bit, you're just feeling guilty for distrusting her_."

The knight wrinkled his nose in thought. Those Pendragons. They sure knew how to make real friends. After all a certain Gwaine had once sworn that he'd never become a knight, never serve a King. And look at the man today, voluntarily wearing a uniform with a piece of furniture on it! And the greatest warlock of all times had certainly fallen for them too. If Morgana's pregnancy wasn't a dead give-away - last night's sounds from the tent sure were. These odd sounds of a female voice crying in bitter hurt and disappointment and the soft, comforting male murmur. Until it had all ended in some rustling and shuffling that had sent Sir Gwaine into the brushwood with some haste.

For the rest of the short way down no one said anything, but Gwaine shook his head when he saw the warlock force his horse to Morgana's side, reaching for her hand. "_Poor Merlin. Must've been hellish to think that one day you'd be forced to choose between your best friend and the woman you love_. _I'm glad you were spared the choice."_

Morgana dismounted in front of the first house. Merlin virtually flew off his horse and to the middle-aged woman who opened her arms to him. Gwaine wanted to follow him but Morgana caught his arm. "Give them a minute. It has been a while."

"My boy" Hunith meanwhile whispered into the warlock's ear. "My Merlin. I'm so glad to see you."

She was so lost in her son's embrace that one of the men cleared his throat and stepped forward without waiting for her to say or do anything. "Your Majesty. Sir Knight. I'm Keith Carpenter, elder of this village. Our prayers have been heard. Welcome. Welcome to Ealdor."

"This is Merlin" the knight snapped irritatedly, pointing at the young warlock. "He's changed a good deal since he's grown up here, hasn't he. Maybe you didn't recognize him."

Still the village elder refused to fully look at the sorcerer. Instead he stared over Gwaine's shoulder at the hill, as if he expected to see some other people coming down the slope.

Now that they were close to the cottages and fields not even Merlin could fail to notice the devastation. Barns and stables were empty, no young animals, no storages. People's faces were haggard and drawn. Grim features everywhere. No one smiled.

No one but Hunith, of course. "Morgana, my dear. It's good to have you back" she said when she finally let go of her son. "I never doubted fate would bring you back to us one day."

Keith Carpenter paled a bit at this casual greeting of the Queen and he gave the royal a furtive side-glance. However he had no need to worry, for Morgana returned Hunith's warm hug with all her heart.

Until the peasant woman frowned and shoved the royal back to scrutinize her body. "Was that what I think it was?"

Both Morgana and Merlin blushed crimson and Hunith had no more questions left to ask.

Whilst the other bystanders looked puzzled, she sighed and shook her head punitively. "There are obviously some interesting tales to tell. We've heard about... matters in Camelot occasionally. Some stories must have been wildly exaggerated. But it will have to wait 'til after you've eaten and rested, especially you, Morgana!"

Keith wanted to say something but he didn't get the chance as Hunith continued "I've got only one question for you, My Lady. Does your brother know?"

"He does" Gwaine intervened determinedly. For his taste this public interrogation had gone far enough. "And he's looking forward to the joyous event!"

This earned the knight a radiant smile from Merlin's mother. "You must be Gwaine. You're exactly as Gaius described you in his letters." She turned towards her cottage. "Come in. Dinner'll be ready in a minute."

However, Keith and the others were at the end of their tether. "Your Majesty will forgive me but where _is_ your brother? Thrice we've send word about our desolation to Camelot and no answer from our King!"

Every inch a Queen, Morgana raised her chin. Telling these people that only Morgause's own message had actually made it to Camelot was useless. "King Arthur is preparing Camelot for an assault of King Alined's so called army of cut-throats and mercenaries. He's entrusted the safekeeping of your villages to me."

Now one of the others lost his patience. A giant of a man, a blacksmith by appearance. "Ma'am, we're under assault, too. And, beg your pardon, this isn't a matter for Ladies to chatter about. This needs the King's swords and soldiers. Are we so unimportant in your brother's eyes that he can't spare a few men to solve this?"

"I understand that you're attacked by magic" Merlin said harshly, louder than he usually spoke. "I assure you, you've got the best of Camelot's resources to deal with this!"

Once more the villagers ignored the warlock so very pointedly that it was an insult in itself.

"With Your Majesty's permission" Keith retook control of the conversation, pulling the officious blacksmith back, "we've seen you fight for us before. But what we're up against here..." he shrugged awkwardly. "_His_ Majesty's sword and strength has helped us in the past and that's what this calls for, a man's sword and a pyre in the centre of the village for this evil sorcerer breed. Just like the priest said, God rest his soul."

Consenting murmurs rose from all the men and from some of the women who'd by now joined the group around the newcomers. "Yes, like Father Cassius said, let them burn. '_Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live_', he said, and right he was."

Gwaine gritted his teeth as he saw Hunith put a protective arm around her son's shoulders. Only now the knight saw the makeshift little church near the village's well. So _that_ was how the wind blew!

The Queen's face hardened. Abruptly she turned back and leaped unto her horse. "Then show me what we're up against and _I_ will show _you_ that I and Camelot's Court Sorcerer need neither your faith and support to deal with this nor any superstitious nonsense, Christian or otherwise. Let's go!"

"You can't Morgana" Hunith shouted in horror. "You're outnumbered five to one. They must've seen you coming, they're expecting you by the old river bed. Child, think of your baby!"

Gwaine mounted too. "Now we're getting somewhere. Hunith, can you tell us what exactly _is_ the matter here?"

Keith answered in her place_. "_A messenger came to us from the Isle of the Blessed. They demanded an oath of allegiance from us, that we would obey the Isle and no one else. We've become good Christians here and we are true subjects of our King. So we refused and the High Priestess sent us ten sorcerers who've step by step ruined our fields and livestock, and now they've cut off our water supply. We're done for."

"And this Crampus or what's his name tried to negotiate with them?" Gwaine asked impatiently.

"He wasn't one to negotiate with filthy sorcerers, our Father Cassius wasn't" the Blacksmith piped up once more. "He raised his Holy Cross to exorcise these unclean demons from our soil but they sent a pillar of fire against him and burned him to cinder, before our very eyes!"

The man's words were accompanied by yelling and shouting of the other villagers, raised fists and forks over faces flushed red with anger and hatred. Gwaine had a cold feeling in his stomach as he saw how many fists and impromptu weapons pointed more towards Hunith and her son than towards the spot where the attackers were allegedly waiting.

It was clear, Ealdor wasn't different from many other villages Gwaine had seen on his travels all over Albion. It didn't take much to stir up one group of people against another who looked different or spoke different or whatever. And yet they wouldn't dare insulting the Queen of Camelot to her face. No, they'd rather vent their fear and helplessness on one of their own who'd happened to rise above them for no apparent merit, or so they thought.

"All right then" the knight said coldly. "If you do not want our help, suit yourself. We'll inform Arthur about your predicament and we'll see if the King of Camelot can make the time to think about your sheds and piglets after you've offended the Queen's Majesty so viciously!"

Without waiting for an answer the knight turned his mount towards home, perfectly willing to leave the darn place for good.

However, as if they'd planned it in advance, Merlin and Morgana rode on towards the dry and ugly river bed which once had been the lifeline of a dozen bustling and happy villages.

Not one of Ealdor's inhabitants made a move to follow them.

"Oh, to hell with it all" Gwaine murmured despairingly. "Can they _never_ listen to reason?"

The knight spurred his mare.

Towards the river bed, of course. Where else _could_ he go? Cursed be the day he'd decided to help two stupid youngsters who'd bitten off more than they could chew in a bar brawl. Up to that day Gwaine had be a free man; now look what Arthur's noble talks and Merlin's puppy-like innocence had made of him. Yes, well, damn it, and his wife's fine qualities, and the fact that Camelot was a great place to live in, with great people to be with, and...

The seasoned warhorse shied suddenly, as someone had come into her path. "Take me with you, Gwaine. Oh, please, take me with you!"

Hunith's pleading face looked up at the man towering over her. Without a word, the knight took her by the arm and pulled her on his horse. "This is madness" she whispered into his ear as she settled behind him. "Their baby..."

"Merlin knows what he's doing" Gwaine said reassuringly and he dearly wished he'd believe in his own words. "He won't let any harm come to her. Nor to you or the others, even though they don't deserve his help."

Hunith had no desire to discuss her fellow villagers' shortcomings, she'd resigned to them long ago. Besides, other questions were burning on her nails. "Is it true? Uther wanted to get rid of his son but fell over his own two feet, Morgana's tried to kill her father and brother, in the service of her sister who's now the High Priestess, but then Arthur made it up with her, they share the throne and now Queen Morgana and my son are..."

"Yes" Gwaine said drily "that's about it. In a nutshell."

Merlin's mother hissed through her teeth, in a mixture of awe and joyful fascination. "Great Mother, what a woman."

"Yep" the knight confirmed again. "That about covers it. Whatever your future daughter-in-law may be, she sure is remarkable."

However, the time for chatting about the complicated circumstances of Arthur's miraculous survival and accession to the throne of Camelot was over as Queen and warlock halted by the rim of the river bed.

For a moment, they both were speechless, virtually flabbergasted by what they saw. Morgana regained her voice first. "So Algernon's fears are well founded" she remarked tight-lipped. "Two Druid tribes preferred allegiance with the Isle to their own people and look what perfect use Morgause and Armand have made of them."

"But these are _kids_" an aghast Merlin replied. "Just kids. Druid children." And these youngsters should have burned an old, foolish man alive, should've threatened a whole village with death and extinction? Impossible!

Spontaneously the warlock decided that they'd got it all wrong. There would be no war. Some kids from the Blessed Isle had been overzealous and that was that. "Well, that should make our mission much easier" he said much relieved, dismounted and straightened his back, resolved to set this right with a few, well-placed words. Like Arthur would have done. Just playing out his natural authority. Piece of cake.

Resolutely Merlin walked forward, ignoring Morgana's warning to stay back.

The group of Druid youngsters, all clad in similar white robes and hoods with the Isle's tree crest prominent on their chest had now risen from their various resting places in their small encampment under a few trees to meet their visitors.

The first one, a boy who couldn't be older than 15 or 16, raised his hand. "This is far enough, Emrys. No further!"

"You may well say that it is far enough" the Court Sorcerer replied sharply. "You're harassing these people wrongfully and without due cause. I order you to release the river's waters and then leave, immediately."

"On whose authority?"

Merlin turned and pointed at Morgana as well as at the small dragon banner that Gwaine, unreliable as always when it came to propriety and protocol, had hastily pulled out of his bag in the very last second. It almost fell from his hand and Hunith steadied it with a quick grip.

The warlock's eyes widened at the sight of his apologetically smiling mother but he couldn't afford to lose the beat now. "By the authority of the Crown of Camelot. As the Court Sorcerer and by order of the Queen herself I tell you: Leave while you still can."

There. That should be enough to put a few kids in their shoes until Morgause came to swaddle them.

The boyish leader, an extremely handsome youngster with golden hair and amber-coloured eyes, smiled; an angelic smile on a face far too young and fragile to ever look sinister.

"Merlin, watch it!" Morgana and Gwaine shouted simultaneously, but it was too late.

A ball of brilliant, hot light hit the unsuspecting warlock from behind and send him flying back. Merlin somersaulted when he hit the ground several metres away, hard. Winded and nauseous he stayed where he was, paralysed and disoriented by a blinding pain in his head and body.

It was the anguished scream of a female voice that startled him out of his stupor. "Morgana, no!"

Through the mist that seemed to cover his eyes Merlin saw Hunith run towards the group of sorcerers who by now made front against another female figure who stood before them, arms raised high above her head, chanting some words Merlin didn't understand.

A strong gust of wind swept over the scene, then another. Uncomprehending the warlock saw his mother and Gwaine, directly behind her, come to a halt, then fall to their knees. With both arms over their heads they tried to protect themselves from a roaring blizzard that had appeared out of nowhere. Gone was the sun, black clouds darkened the sky and the storm howled like a tormented being.

Then the rain came. Only this wasn't like any rain Merlin had ever seen before. Wherever he looked, there was water, raging, scourging the dried out earth, ripping the soil away, flogging the trees until their branches and trunks broke with terrifying, splintering sounds. When the warlock tried to breathe there was no air but water; when he tried to get up the sheer vehemence of the water nailed him to the ground.

And suddenly it was cold. Unbelievably, stunningly cold. The kind of cold that kills, silently but without mercy.

And yet the warlock did not figure out what was happening until his own magic rose inside him, screaming at him, howling madly. Danger! This was wrong. This was utterly, totally _wrong_!

"Morgana!" Miraculously Merlin made it to his feet, tried to fight his way towards the place where he'd last seen his companions. But, merciless and uncaring, the forces of nature, unleashed by a magic stronger and more vengeful than anything Merlin could ever have imagined, forced him to his knees after only two or three steps. The young sorcerer fought for air, for a few seconds more of consciousness as he slowly realised what had happened.

Morgana, enraged by the attack against her love, had instinctively called her magic, ignoring every precaution, every restraint Merlin had tried to teach her.

Without another strong magician's support and additional hold over them, her gifts ran wild. The sorceress' singular powers were completely out of control; alone Morgana could not call them back. For miles around they would not spare anything, alive or dead, until, at the very end, they'd consume the very person who'd send them out in the first place.

By now Merlin himself was howling like a madman, tears of wrath and fear streamed over his face only to be washed away by the brutal rain before he noticed them. "Morgana! Where are you? Answer me, love, please. Please, oh please, where are you?"

Lightning struck the earth all around him, thunder roared in the sky and the storm grew even stronger; it uprooted trees, let solid rock fly through the air like pebbles thrown by a wilful child.

Nature raged in madness and there was no limit to its wrath. It was loud. Deafening, head-splitting, unimaginably loud. And yet, through all the ruckus, a distant growl was audible all of a sudden and the earth began to tremble.

The roaring of water! From somewhere distant a flood was rolling down the old river bed, devouring anything in its way.

Sobbing, shaking, Merlin tried to regain control of his own magic that squirmed and wriggled inside him like a frightened animal. With all his might he lashed out with it, blindly, with the one thought only, to find Morgana's presence. To contain her magic. Or to die with her. Nothing else was important in this apocalypse. Just to find her. Just to not die alone in this nightmare of uproar and chaos.

On all fours Merlin crawled forward, forward, on and on, unseeing, his ears no longer able to withstand the sounds of nature dying all around him. In his mind there was an eerie quiet, disturbed by one thought alone. Morgana! He had to find her.

His hand touched something. A boot, clothes, a face. Somehow he knew that it wasn't her and he crawled on, without a second thought for whom he had found there, probably dead or dying in the mud.

Again his searching fingers made contact with human flesh. Again, a face, a head. In reflex Merlin pulled when he felt long, and still, despite wetness and dirt, silky hair. He pulled and pulled and only dimly he marvelled at the lack of resistance from the body. Until he finally realised that he was dragging a severed head after him; the head of a young girl, with blond hair and wide open, horrified blue eyes, her face a distorted mask of agony.

With a scream he let go. He lashed and kicked wildly until, by sheer luck, his feet hit the head and send it flying into the darkness and the storm.

Struggling frantically he crawled on and on. Not knowing why, how or where he was going.

After what might have been seconds or hours, he bumped head first into another female body. With all his remaining strength he raised his head and shoulders until he could see something of her face, through the still tormenting rain and wind.

Black hair, white delicate skin, long, silky lashes he'd recognized everywhere. With an outcry he collapsed on her body, embracing her, crying, stammering her name, again and again.

However, Morgana did not stir. Her skin was cold, her face blank. Whatever was happening to her now she was way beyond feeling it.

The ground beneath Merlin trembled stronger now. The flood was near. Soon it would drown the valley, the village and the humans who'd foolhardily thought their strive for power important enough to tamper with nature's forces until it was too late.

Exhausted, aching and with a mortal sadness about this shameful, senseless incapablity, Merlin let his head fall on Morgana's chest and closed his eyes.


	14. Triumph and solitude

**14****. Triumph and solitude**

"What do you mean, you've no idea what happened? I send you out to escort and protect the Queen and Court Sorcerer, you _dare_ come back alone and now you do not even know what happened to them?"

"Yes, My Lord" Gwaine answered softly, never avoiding the King's rabid gaze. "That's what I'm saying. I failed. You, your sister and the only friend I've ever had. I failed."

Arthur swallowed. He had the hand on Excalibur's hilt, and he himself would not have known if it was to calm his trembling fingers or to draw the blade and cut the man before him to pieces.

This couldn't be true. Not after all he'd been through. Not after all they'd done and suffered to make this unlikeliest of all alliances possible, to bring peace back to Camelot instead of a slow, gruesome mauling of brother and sister. Morgana couldn't be just _gone_, not now.

And Merlin….. Merlin had become….. there wasn't really a word for what the stumbling, good-natured, idiotic yet all-powerful magician had become, for the important role he played in Arthur's life. Only one thing was certain: Arthur would not, _could_ not live on like this; without his sister, without Merlin he just couldn't go on.

And here was this man, this nitwit, this pathetic excuse for a knight kneeling in front of him, _staring_ at him actually, and telling him, _him_, the King of Camelot, that he most probably would have to do exactly that. Live on, go on, fight on - alone.

Naturally, there were other possibilities. A ransom note and some demands from the Isle of the Blessed, most likely. Do as I say or they'll stay with me, kind regards, Morgause.

Yet somehow, deep inside him, Arthur knew that it wouldn't be so easy. They just wouldn't come back. He was alone. He would always be alone from now on.

And it was Gwaine's fault!

Fearing the worst from his sovereign's face, Sir Leon furtively dared to intervene "Sire…I'm convinced Sir Gwaine did everything in his power to…."

With a sharp, unnerving sound Excalibur came out of its sheath and described a dazzling circle in front of Leon's startled face before the point came to rest on the table, an inch away from Leon's body. The other Council Members present, Geoffrey, Gaius, some nobles and knights, gasped in unison, but then fell dead silent.

They had often seen Arthur angry, they'd often gossiped of how he had inherited a lot of his father's temper but they'd never seen him like this. White with rage and yet hard, cold and calm like an unfeeling rock. "If – and I say _**if**_, Leon – I want to hear your opinion on anything, I will let you know. Until then you'll guard your tongue if you want to keep it!"

Algernon shook his head, but he said nothing. He had felt the outburst of magic in Ealdor, and the horrible feeling of …. nothingness afterwards. A hole in the fabric of magic, of life and nature itself. To him, there was no doubt. Emrys was gone. And Morgana….. Destroyer or no, Algernon knew how strongly the hapless woman had felt that the Druid children weren't prey for anyone who decided to hunt them down and use them to his ends. Now the Queen was gone too, and all that stood between the Druids and their enemies, Magicians or Christians, was one young King with his back to every wall in Albion.

Truth be told, Algernon wanted – no, needed – a scapegoat for this disaster as direly as Arthur did. To hell with this idiot Gwaine!

Leon was shocked, hurt, appalled, all at the same time, but he didn't back away, not from the sword, not from the man. "Your Majesty is acting in haste. Wrath and hurt are bad councillors and I'd be neglectful of my duties if I did not object!" The King and his knight stood eye-to-eye; neither able to stare the other one down. Abruptly Arthur turned back to Gwaine. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, Sire. Nothing but that I'm a disgrace to the knights of Camelot, to my father and myself. I've no right to wear your crest, I'm not worthy of your trust. I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit."

Arthur lifted his chin. His jaws were set. "There can be only one punishment for negligence of duty in a knight. Once honour is lost, all is lost. A knight cannot stay alive after that!"

But through the horrified gasps and murmurs all around, someone else spoke up. "His Majesty will let you know what punishment you are to receive in due time, Sir Gwaine. For now you're dismissed by this Council until further notice!" Gaius' raised voice was imperative enough to startle the gawking soldiers from their stupor: "Guards, take Sir Gwaine to the dungeons!"

When the soldiers obeyed, Arthur turned to the old healer and instantaneously all the others present had some pressing business elsewhere. Bowing and scraping they excused themselves and gave the two men the room. A terrified Geoffrey dragged a reluctant Leon away before even more calamity could be caused. In less than a minute everyone had left. Almost everyone.

"How dare you" Arthur accused the physician with white lips. "How dare you stab me in the back like that. Publicly! You, of all people!"

Gaius answer was short and crisp. "It wasn't me who was making a fool of you, Sire. I had to step in before your unjust wrath did you harm."

"You'd never done that in my father's time!"

"No. Unfortunately my love and friendship for Uther were never strong enough. Every time I agreed with him when I shouldn't have, I abandoned him. I vowed not to make the same mistake with you, Arthur."

Suddenly the King's cold, withdrawn face became a grimace of hurt. "He just left them there, to these creatures! How could he? He had no right! I _relied_ on Gwaine." Briefly Arthur was panting, small, fast breaths that sounded a bit like sobs. Until his upbringing took hold of him; he straightened his back and restrained himself, found back his former forbidding calm. "For such negligence a knight deserves no less than death."

"Did I abandon them, too? Is that what I did?" a small female voice asked from somewhere in the back of the hall. "I was there with Gwaine when the storm vanished. The sorcerers were gone without a trace, the stream flowing peacefully in its bed, all fields and pastures in full bloom, as if nothing bad had happened. And yet they were both gone without a trace." Hunith's voice became louder now. "I searched and searched and searched and found nothing, just like Gwaine. So I too abandoned Morgana. My grandchild. And my son?"

Her words rattled Arthur. He was ashamed that he should have presumed to be more pained by the loss than Merlin's mother. Yet as a King, as a Pendragon and as a nobleman, he didn't have it in him to just apologize and take his blunder in a stride. Let alone tell his people that the rash sentence against an innocent man had been a stupidity.

So he just stood there, hapless, speechless, thinking that he was left with egg all over his face and yet too obstinate to just back down. Caught in the trap of his tantrum and incapable of admitting a mistake.

"_Oh, I know that look_" Gaius thought. "_The cat ate the cream but it turned out bad and now someone else is to pay for the broken pot_."

But this time Arthur would not get away with it. With Morgana and Merlin missing, Gwen gone and all hope of peace and quiet for the realm in shambles, the healer suddenly remembered the night in which Uther's son had tried to take his own life.

As long as Gaius lived, Arthur would not manoeuvre himself into so tight a spot again that he saw no honourable way out other than to harm himself. And as sure as hell the King _would_ be the first to suffer from remorse about Gwaine's fate. It would make what had happened in Ealdor even more terrible. And the mere thought of Merlin coming back, asking for Gwaine, smilingly and innocent – it would drive Arthur mad.

Well, if a surgeon's knife had to cut, it was best done swiftly. "May the Great Mother save us from another Pendragon King who rules with his prickly pride and lacks the courage to face the consequences. You've got brains, Arthur and the guts to use them. We're facing a full scale war against the combined forces of Alined and the Isle. We need Gwaine and well you know it!" That said, the Court Physician bowed briskly and took his leave, urging Hunith to leave with him with a few last, loud words in Arthur's direction. "We better give His Majesty a chance to finish his deliberations. Possibly _before_ the enemy knocks down our doors!"

Once he'd finally convinced a crestfallen Hunith to take a little nap (not without the help of a sleeping draught, masked as a mild potion against headache) Gaius began to wait in his infirmary.

It was the kind of waiting he wasn't cut out for. "There's nothing for it, my love" Alice said when she could no longer watch him fretting. "You couldn't go to him, not now. He has to come to you, driven by his own better senses or not to come at all."

It was a long wait. More than once the healer chastised himself bitterly for his harsh words. He had overdone it, surely he had overdone it this time….. Alice did her very best to calm him, but soon enough the circle of thoughts started anew. "Arthur has always punished himself much harder for his mistakes than any penalty Uther inflicted on him. The boy can torture himself for weeks, for months even…"

"He's not a boy anymore, sweetheart. He's a grown up man." Alice hesitated but in the end she spoke her mind anyway. "You and Merlin, you have a tendency to treat our King like a child. A child that merely plays with daddy's royal coat."

Gaius wasn't convinced. "He's lost his father, Alice, he's lost friends, his wife…." If, heaven forbid, Morgana and Merlin would not come back, a thought that pained him more than Gaius allowed himself to admit, how much more could Arthur take? Gwaine's death might well be for him what Igraine's death had been for Uther. The first step on a road that led inevitably downhill.

After a while of fruitless talking, Alice went to see Gwaine's wife and she didn't come back for the night. It had always been her maxim that she would help where she could do some good but not waste her time where she could not.

Leon came to see Gaius, then Geoffrey. Elyan and Percival followed but Gaius sent them all packing.

Finally, against midnight, the physician had long since taken to his bed, his heart heavy and sore from his worrying, someone knocked at his door. "Enter" Gaius said hoarsely, pressing his thumbs.

"It's cold in here" Arthur complained awkwardly when he came in. "Did you sell your firewood for some herbs or what?" He looked around with a nervous frown "Where's your wife?"

"At Gwaine's. His young wife is pregnant. Didn't you know that?"

Arthur winced as if he'd been slapped. "Do you think she's upset?" he asked, the teensiest bit sheepish. He walked from one shelf to the other whilst speaking. Touching this phial or that, he constantly avoided looking at his old friend.

"Oh no, why should she be?" snorted Gaius derisively. "Because her husband is to be executed for no fault of his own? She's probably looking forward to the joys of widowhood."

"Oh, stop it old man."

"As Your Majesty wishes. It's hard for me, though. I still remember Hunith's first months after Balinor had allegedly been killed by your father's men. Not that Uther thought much about her. Or about anyone else, for that matter. No doubt a royal prerogative."

"For the Gods' sake, Gaius. I've already given order for Gwaine to be released come morning. Now are you content?"

The healer had to grab the table for support as the arthritis in his knees underwent an astonishing change. Where once the bones had grinded on each other for lack of cartilage they were now completely missing, leaving only jelly to fill the skin. What relief could do for an old man's legs. If only one could prescribe it as a cure.

"Content, Sire? Why would you care if I'm content? If you did care, though, I'd ask you to add to my contentment by apologizing to Sir Gwaine."

Arthur's face was dark when he growled back at the healer. "No use trying your luck, you know."

"I'm serious, Arthur. He's blaming himself for what happened. It could destroy him."

"We all have some regrets to live with, some experiences we'd rather not made. I remember an old man, Gaius by name, who told me it's all part of growing up. Perhaps it's time that Sir Gwaine grows up." Arthur grinned mirthlessly "Possibly before the enemy knocks down our doors."

"You know, Sire, even physicians can become too old and feeble for changing diapers, holding hands and singing a soothing lullaby to an overgrown baby boy."

"I know, Gaius. Therefore you delegated the task to Merlin. However, in his absence there's no one to hold Sir Gwaine's hand but you. I simply refuse. And that _is_ a royal prerogative!"

"Arthur, it would mean so much more to Gwaine if it came from you…."

"Put it in your pipe and smoke it, old man: His head still on his shoulders, his rank and titles still intact – that is the only apology Gwaine will ever get from me. And now to business…Damn it, why doesn't your wife come back for the night?"

Gaius found it wiser to drop the 'Gwaine issue' for the time being. "What has Alice to do with anything?"

"I'm not comfortable with risking our army in an open field battle, not while the Isle's magicians march with Alined and the best of our own magicians are on an outing. But apprehending the Isle's forces is still our best chance. I will leave with the main force in the morning, to unite with Marke's troops."

"But Camelot…."

"I hope Camelot won't be molested. But if it is, you all hide behind the walls and don't you stir, understood? Merlin's and Morgana's absence leaves Camelot with you, oh great magical warrior, your equally warring wife, some wide-eyed youngsters from your healers' seminar and the as always extremely blood-thirsty Druids. Do the maths, Gaius. At least running against the citadel might slow down Morgause's sorcerers. It will give you all a better chance. Leon, the Knights of the Round Table and our own guard regiment will stay behind to hold Camelot 'til my return if needs be."

"I perfectly agree, Sire. But shouldn't the Knights of the Round Table be with you?" Gaius didn't want to admit that the mere thought of Arthur marching off without at least some of his faithful bunch made him sick. Merlin would kill him if he knew that Gaius had allowed such a thing to happen.

"I'm glad you agree" Arthur replied drily, but he ignored the bit about his knights completely. "You could oblige me even further by telling your wife that I'll leave my children in her care."

Gaius was taken even more aback. "But surely Leon and the knights would lay down their lives for Margaly and Galahad…"

"Yes, like Gwaine did for Merlin and my sister. Besides, every man jack will be fighting." Arthur laid a hand on Gaius' shoulder. If Camelot falls, no one will be safe in town or castle. But I do hope that Morgause will spare your new healers' temple and the hospital inside. You will be in the citadel's vaults tending to the wounded while Alice will be in the temple, together with a whole bunch of kids. Do you follow my drift?"

"Perfectly, Sire. Nobody will find out your children among the others."

"Well, that's settled then. At the first possible moment, Alice will bring the kids to the Branguards, do you understand? To nobody else. They've the best chances to make their peace with the Isle, and they are Margaly's official guardians." Arthur huffed under his breath as he continued "Angus wouldn't give up the legal heir to the throne to anyone. He'd come back from the grave to defend the Branguard entitlements."

"But I'd taken it for granted that the Baron of Ravenclaw and Lord Saltyre would stay in Camelot with their soldiers …."

"Gaius, you're more than seventy years of age. And after all this time, you still take loyalty for granted in a man? Besides,.." Arthur waved his hand dismissively "they had no choice. I _ordered_ them both to defend the Ravenclaw and Saltyre estates. Camelot can't survive when our strongest fiefdoms get lost."

"What about your Christian lords?"

"As it was them who brought this disaster about, they better see to it that it is righted. Their troops will be with me, in open battle."

"Can you rely on them?" Gaius had wanted to bring up the issue of the Knights of the Round Table again, but his method was ill chosen. He regretted the question when he saw Arthur's face. "If they betray me they better pray that I get killed before I can take revenge!"

Suddenly Gaius was very cold. "_Do you still recognize the golden boy in the wretched man_?" How right Morgana had been. And how wrongly Uther had judged his son. Arthur had had such a kind, forgiving heart once, Uther thought it would make him weak. Barely a year on the throne and the boy's heart was made of stone. "I wished you'd stay with us Sire….."

The healer was brazenly cut short when the door banged open to reveal a panting Sir Leon "There you are, Arthur. I've been looking for you everywhere. Our outlying villages have been overrun, our men and people are dead or captured. Alined's army…. it's not at Marke's, it's here. Camelot is attacked by all they've got!"

The blow took all air from Gaius lungs, and he wasn't the only one. Arthur was as white as chalk. "How the hell was that possible? We had scouts and outlooks everywhere!"

Leon shrugged helplessly. "They've appeared out of the blue, all over the place, causing havoc, killing people hand over fist. They've begun attacking the Druid villages, too. Arthur, it's a horrible slaughterhouse out there, merely hours away."

"It must've been magic" Gaius muttered. "They couldn't have avoided all those eyes looking for them."

As always, Arthur was the first to compose himself. Camelot was in acute danger and his instincts took over. Shouting orders right and left he dashed through the halls, trusting Gaius to know what to do.

Barely ten minutes and the chaos that had followed the sudden shock came back to structure and order whilst the fortifications were manned. Finally, much later than Leon would ever had dared on his own, the gates were closed and barred. The citadel had taken in town's people, refugees and provisions until the very last moment, as the enemy's vanguard already roamed the lower town.

Somewhere in the turmoil a woman passed Arthur by, a vaguely familiar face, her fingers intertwined with that of a life-long servant of the royal household. Absurdly a thought flashed through the King's mind. "_How could he get married without me even noticing it_?"

"You'll send these bastards to hell, Your Majesty" the woman said feverishly "I know you will. They'll rue the day they came here."

"C'me away, Minnie" her husband said while he dragged her forward, to the vaults. To what they all hoped, all those running and leaving behind all they had, would be safety.

It was idiotic, but in that brief, precious moment Arthur felt suddenly invincible. "They will, Minnie" he shouted at the top of his voice. "I swear it!"

She shouted something back but he couldn't understand it, as in this very minute a cavalcade of heavily armed men galloped towards him at full speed. When the leader's horse was sharply reined in just before Arthur's feet, the man opened his visor and a baffled King found himself staring at Sir Lancelot du Lac.


	15. Shattered dreams

**15. Shattered dreams**

Lancelot found it easier than expected to blend in with the Knights of Camelot. A quick smile from Leon, a nod from Gwaine and that was it; end of story.

Granted, the fierce fighting left no room for anything else. Alined's forces had now begun their attack in earnest and the lower town, as anticipated, fell quickly.

Gruesome as it was, the situation should have been familiar to the man who once had been Camelot's finest champion after the Pendragons but at the same time, so much was different.

Albeit in the thick of things with the majority of his men, Lancelot felt strangely separated from the situation.

Weird. Weird indeed. In spite of being surrounded by men wanting nothing else but to cut him down, although his blade found its victims with every blow, Lance's thoughts were many miles away and yet, in a way he was back like he'd never been gone.

As if his marriage to Alaine, a mockery from the start that had quickly, disastrously turned into a catastrophe, was just a nightmare. A spectre, terrifying at night, gone at the first light of day.

But it was not. What others would call his good fortune; what _he_ called a fall into hell in the disguise of a march through heaven's door, was very real.

"_For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul_?" Lancelot had a bitter taste in his mouth as he grinned at the memory of his confessor's good-bye. Surely the man had chosen this phrase for a farewell on purpose.

Indeed, a growling yet helpless Arthur had added Erec's possessions to the former fiefdom and now the Baron du Lac had a vast estate to govern, a fortune to squander, hundreds of men at his command, a beautiful woman who'd adore him if only he'd let her – and Lancelot would leave it all and forget it all for one single moment of the past.

Of the times in which he had been young. His purse had been empty and his life had been full. Of hope. Of love. Of friendship.

Nothing was left. His love had turned sour, it had cost him the friendship and the respect of a King and with these, all hope had gone to hell.

Lancelot loathed Arthur and Arthur loathed him, nothing would ever change that. The barely constrained disdain in the Royal's face had burned his way into Lance's stomach, into his chest when he'd been face to face with his King today.

If Arthur had dared to forego du Lac's hundred knights and soldiers, Lancelot would never have made it through the gates before being kicked out like a dirty rat, of that he was sure.

With grim resolve Lancelot grabbed his sword in a firmer grip. So much the better if he was a pain in Arthur's arse, it made his real task in Camelot so much pleasanter to fulfil.

Because, today Sir du Lac wasn't here to help his one time friends or King.

He had come to ensure that Lord Erec, far away in exile but eager to see the Pendragon rule destroyed, would get all the intelligence he needed.

As Erec had said: "S_ome men are chosen to preach the Lord's word in peace to enlighten mankind and others are chosen to preach with sword and fire for God's greater glory_."

The days in which Lancelot had questioned the logic of this very individual interpretation of the Gospel were way in the past. He believed – had to believe, _wanted_ to believe – that Erec was right. Magic had brought Arthur to the throne, magic held him there and without this unholy pact with the powers of Satan, Uther's son would be exposed as the fraud he was.

To the people and knights of Camelot.

To Merlin who'd so quickly abandoned his friend Lance when Arthur had snapped his fingers.

To Guinivere.

And to the son she'd born to Lancelot du Lac, the son who'd one day see that Arthur Pendragon could not hope to hold a candle to his real father.

For Galahad, Lancelot's son, would become King and he would be remembered for all time as the great man who brought Albion to the true faith. The shining light of Sir du Lac's only son, of the once and future King, would be a beacon of hope for generations to come.

With every thrust of his blade, every cut, every scream from one of Alined's men, with the stench of blood, the turmoil of battle Lance suddenly felt restful. He'd come to the right place at the right time, to work for his God, for his exiled Lord and for his son.

Everywhere around him dead bodies piled, men moaned and begged for help, for mercy – unheard and unheeded whilst fresh flesh ran into the slaughterhouse, their eyes seeing and yet blind, their ears hearing and yet deaf.

Fires broke out. Small ones, bigger ones. Who cared? If houses would burn and people would perish – in this moment the flames conveniently illuminated the battlefield.

Somewhere in Lance's back a horn called and Leon grabbed his shoulder: "RETREAT! To the Citadel's walls."

In the blink of an eye Camelot's men fell back in one great, fast movement and the second the Citadel's outer gates were slammed shut into the assaulting enemies' faces even Lancelot heaved a sigh of relief.

However, relief did not last long.

At first, for several hours, it appeared possible to fend the attack off.

Arthur was seemingly everywhere at once. Unbelievably he led two successful counter attacks against Alined's troops who threatened to break through the outer fortifications.

But then their luck ran out and the scales were turned.

It began as a low, dark growling in the earth beneath their feet. It became louder and louder, until the very walls, Camelot's powerful, unbreakable walls, began to tremble.

The first lightning hit a group of ten soldiers on the eastern wall from a clear night sky in which the stars shone indifferently on their burning corpses.

Again and again and again lightning struck at random, inside the fortifications, on the walls, in the open yards, women, children, soldiers alike. No one daring enough or forced by circumstances to be outdoors was safe.

Casualties poured in until Gaius and Alice had to send people away as they could not staple the wounded like casks, one on the other. Some of the young healer apprentices fell down where they stood, crying, screaming. Terrified and utterly exhausted.

And still lightning crashed down and thunder rolled deafeningly while the bloody, murderous struggle of men and swords went on and on, unceasingly.

Both Arthur and his knights, Lancelot included, watched a huge, dark cloud build up in the sky. Black, vicious looking, unnatural.

As the first strong gusts of icy wind hit the shuddering defenders they all knew that the writing was on the wall.

Somewhere out there, safely behind the attacking forces' backs, a group of sorcerers had begun their work on Camelot. Through all the crescendo of war and nature running wild shreds of their chanting could be heard, as their spells were at the very core of the attack now.

Little did the defenders know that they were facing what Morgana and Merlin had experienced in Ealdor and if they had known the knowledge would have been useless.

It was the Isle's ancient power, unleashed against a fragile house of fragile people who had nothing to counter this assault. All their bravery, their passion and their fierceness came to nothing against an enemy who killed them from afar, who never saw their faces, who never heard them scream.

Lancelot grinned wildly, madly. Where was Arthur's grandeur, now that magic, his precious, devilish magic, turned against him? Where was Merlin, where Morgana, now, as the worst came to the worst? Cowering in some corner, praying for deliverance, spitting their hearts out in some loo for fear for their miserable lives?

In this moment of vengeful mirth Lance was beyond caring or fearing, no thought of his task, not even of his son, could touch him. Death would come but it would come as a friend, soothe all pain, end all troubles in one single moment of honour and glory.

It was a good day to die if it brought about his enemies' downfall by the very same spirits they had cited.

Leon and Gwaine, who had no idea what he was thinking, glanced at him furtively, shyly, whenever the battle gave them a split second to breathe. To them, Lancelot, his hair flogged by brutal storm and lashing rain, looked like a warrior from the old legends. Bigger than life. A Berserk.

Indeed du Lac's sword mowed through the assailants' rows like a reaper would bring down the grain. Methodically but thoughtless. Almost frivolously.

All the knights and men of Camelot exceeded themselves that day, that night although they knew they were doomed. The answer to Arthur's long-standing battle cry "for the love of Camelot" was thinner and thinner every time but it did not fall silent. Like the magicians' chanting it could still be heard over all the turmoil.

Until the walls stopped trembling and started shaking as the ground erupted under their feet.

With wide eyes, disbelieving, the defenders watched the outer walls collapse in three places at once.

Howling with triumph Alined's forces stormed the Citadel's outlying premises as the stronghold's first line of defence broke down, then, fifteen minutes later, the second.

Now a minor ring of almost unfortified walls, more thought to support buildings and separate the inner housings from the outer farm buildings and work-sheds than to defend the place was all that stood between the fugitives, the wounded and the servants inside the castle and the attacking troops, crazed by the frenzy of war.

It was in front of these walls where Arthur and his men made their last stand.

It was in front of these walls where reality caught up with Lancelot du Lac and tore him out of his stupor.

He looked around.

Ruins burning, people still screaming, heaven knew where and for whom. Men plundering, killing everyone who still moved, right and left, while they pressed forward. Forward to the biggest prize of all.

The Royal Citadel of Camelot was about to fall and each and everyone inside would die.

The Isle of the Blessed would come into power and after this day no King, no Prince, no man in all Albion would dare oppose them, ever again.

Two buildings were still standing in the area outside the inner walls. As Lancelot watched them, suddenly tired to the bone, they were both struck by blinding strokes of lightning.

Slowly, almost graciously, the two towers of the Old Religion's Temple and the Christian Church sank to the ground. Together. Like two friends, walking hand in hand.

Briefly Lance thought that this should mean something to him. But he didn't know what.

"For the Gods' sake, man, WAKE UP!"

Arthur's voice. Authoritative. Demanding. Ruthless.

As Lance's brain quitted service old reflexes took over and he snapped to attention.

Not a second too early.

Again he found himself in the centre of a violent struggle, again he wielded his sword like a machine, thinking of nothing but of the next thrust, the next blow, the next man to kill.

But a part of him had also come to watch the young King by his side. Excalibur, with a will of its own, danced in the air, sparkling, seemingly untouchable.

In the early days of earth, when angels had still walked on her soil, their swords must have been like this one.

A blade not made for mortal hands.

And yet the young Pendragon King wielded it as if it was a part of his body. Arthur's clothes were torn, his fatigue was visible, the bones in his wrists stood out as if they'd break through the skin every moment.

For hours he'd been fighting, always in the first line, always taking the brunt of the assault. Now four, five men attacked him at once.

They couldn't get through to him.

Not a scratch. Not one bruise. Nothing.

Untouchable, like his blade.

For the first time Lancelot noticed the sheath at Arthur's belt.

He'd never seen it before.

Through the blood and the dirt that covered it the embroidery still shone where light flickered over it. Signs, runes, an intricate pattern that seemed to whisper.

A sword to fight the impossible fight. A sheath to cover blade and man alike.

A piece of art and magic that had written one name all over it.

_Merlin._

Suddenly, without knowing from where the thought came, Lance felt his heart stop. A life for a life, even he knew that and, all of a sudden, the fact that he hated all magicians slipped his mind, just like that. "Arthur, where is he? Why isn't he at your side?"

The King didn't hear him as Excalibur's murderous dance went on.

Lance couldn't remember that, just a moment ago, he'd been looking forward to Merlin's demise. "Damn you what have you done to him?" It was the only question that still mattered. How far would Arthur Pendragon go to protect himself? What sacrifices would he demand? Like Lance Merlin had trusted his King. Like Lance he'd been betrayed, abandoned, sacrificed …..Poor, trusting idiot, poor innocent Merlin….

A loud scream, a roaring triumphant howl and some hundred metres away, near the south gate, a part of the last walls collapsed and gave way to the intruders.

Barely a minute later, Arthur and his men found themselves alone.

Greedy for the spoils of victory, tired of the dangerous and much less lucrative fight against Camelot's best warriors, the attackers ran off towards easy victory and lots of prey.

Without thinking Leon and the others ran after them. Lance, equally headless, wanted to follow when Arthur stopped him in mid-stride. "Don't!"

"What the hell? Let me go!"

"The rest of your men are still inside the Citadel. Take them and get the children out of here. There may still be time! Go through the vaults, Alice knows the way."

Flabbergasted, Lance gawked at Arthur. "What….?"

"That's an order, Sir du Lac. Margaly and Galahad are with Dame Alice, in the healers' seminar. Take them to Guinivere and join forces with the Branguards. Blast you, move your ass!"

"I don't….? You really want….. you want me to take _my_ son with me?"

For a split second Lance was sure he was a dead man. Stupidly he wondered how it would feel, to be cut in halves by Excalibur's magical blade. Would it hurt?

Yet the moment came and went. The King's face was blank of all emotion again. "If you think you or any other Christian will survive the Isle's victory for long, think again. Neither Armand, nor Morgause, nor Alined will forgive what Marke did to Tristan and Iseult, they have too much to gain if we all are crucified for the one stupid act."

And still, Lance was rooted to the spot while precious seconds ticked away, unused. "But ….. your daughter…. Why shouldn't Merlin or Morgana...?

"Almighty Gods, don't you get it?" Arthur screamed despairingly. "Look around you, Camelot is crumbling! Do you think they'd let that happen?" Violently he pushed Lance round. "They're dead, fallen whilst defending Ealdor against Morgause's men, magician killed magician, now are you content? Now GET LOST!"

Before Lance could say anything, Arthur was gone. Just once Excalibur shone through the hurly-burly, then night swallowed both enemy and defender.

Du Lac was still dumbfounded. Merlin…. _dead_?

"That must have cost him" Gwaine's dry, cynic voice remarked in Lance's back, nodding towards where Arthur had vanished. "He loves little Galahad, madly, heaven knows why. Well, I think it doesn't matter much once they've cut him to pieces. Shall we go?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're not being neglectful of your duties _My Lord_. Like, forgetting Princess Margaly. Or thinking twice about things once you've seen your little bastard. He's not all a Prince should be, you know? Forgive the King for not telling you earlier!"

Finally, and with a vengeance, Lance's brain resumed its duty. Arthur would die. Camelot would fall. All that was left were two little kids and their mother. A hundred miles the convent where Guinivere had taken refuge was. There might still be time…..

He turned and ran. Gwaine rolled his eyes and followed.

It took them ten minutes to reach the seminar through the gardens, from the backside, while the enemies already approached the front. From somewhere, Gaius had come, he stood outside, talking, yelling.

Lance thought he'd die every second.

Suddenly a commanding voice cut through the turmoil. "Go back. Leave the seminar alone! By pain of death!"

Behind the drunken, brutish soldiers, in raging thunderstorm and rain and lightning, Armand of Morgwyn had appeared, ready to take the day.

Momentarily Lance and Gwaine were frozen in place. In the full attire of his rank, barely able to keep his huge black, foaming beast of a prancing battle horse in check, his blades bloodied and his eyes shining gold with magic as he drove the attackers off, the High Master was a sight that could intimidate even the strongest soul.

In this very second another violent upheaval of the ground under their feet caused further panic in- and outside the seminar.

Gwaine hit Lance's shoulder and the spell broke, quickly yet furtively they entered the seminar and with a sting of joyful surprise, between all the fearful people running to and fro, they both recognized Alice in a corner, a terrified and somehow yet fascinated looking Margaly in one arm, Galahad in her lap.

She, too, recognized the two newcomers and silently she rose, offering the two children to them. "I promised Arthur, but I can't leave Gaius, come what may. Take them to their mother. The Gods bless you for it."

Gwaine didn't ask or talk back. He lifted Margaly, pushed the small living bundle of a boy into Lance's arm and off they were, cross the yard, towards on of the Citadel's servants' entrances and to the vaults.

It seemed to take them an eternity. There was no sign of Lance's men, but Gwaine hadn't expected anything else. Not even Arthur could've kept up order once the enemy had entered the inner, most vulnerable regions of Camelot.

Inside the palace, people screamed and tried to hide. Or to find their loved ones. Some clinging to some last precious possessions, gold necklaces for the one, a broken doll for the other. Nobody cared about two dirty, exhausted men with children in their arms.

Nobody but one.

"Margaly" the sturdy woman shouted as Gwaine found the stairs to the vaults. "My little Princess!"

Gwaine was quick of the mark, as a rule, but now even he took a moment before he recognized the landlady of his favourite ale house in the lower town.

Knights, Princesses, Barons, it was all the same to Minnie. Decorum had never been her forte, and her much tamer husband who'd followed her upstairs wasn't asked for his opinion.

Round she turned, downstairs again, pushing every possible obstacle aside, noble or otherwise, while they ran and ran. Like a siege weapon, Minnie pushed their way through the people who packed even those deeper layers of what once had been a splendid Royal Court.

Neither of the fugitives needed any words. Peasant or knight, all four of them knew it to be madness, trying to escape with two little kids through woods and villages and roads swarming with enemies in every direction.

The Blessed Isle would know that, the Branguards being believers in the Old Religion or no, the fight for Camelot would start afresh if Margaly made it to Angus' and Malcolm's welcoming arms alive. With Arthur and Morgana dead, the little Crown Princess would become Queen and Guinivere regent during her infancy. With both Royals in their keep, nothing would stop the Branguard brothers from fighting for their piece of the cake ferociously.

Armand of Morgwyn would curse the day he'd forced a most reluctant Pendragon King and Queen to make Angus Branguard the Baron of Ravenclaw!

As a consequence, come morning, every man jack of the enemy force would be out, searching for Margaly and Galahad, but who would look for the two Royal kids in the cellars of an ill-famed ale-house, behind the empty casks?

They reached the vaults' entrance, luckily, miraculously without any company. The escape route had always been a secret to which only a few were private, Gwaine being one of them, because of Merlin's indomitable trust in him.

The vaults seemed endless, the more so as Gwaine meticulously closed and locked all doors behind them. The deep cellars and their walls, metres thick, swallowed all sounds from the outside world. Minnie now carried her adored Margaly, her husband, in the wake, did his best to clean away all traces.

At last, the exit was in sight. Surprisingly both children were silent. Gwaine climbed up the ladder, unbolted the heavy wooden trap door in the ceiling and squeezed it open. Cautiously he stuck his head out to have a peep at their surroundings.

All was quiet in the meadow outside. The nearby rivulet gurgled softly. A bird or two chirped in their sleep. Somewhere a cow mooed.

Perfect, tranquil peace.

"Stay back" Gwaine hissed as Lance wanted to squeeze his way out, a – could one believe it? – sleeping Galahad in his arms.

"We must get out of here" du Lac whispered back angrily. "What are you waiting for?"

"Are you deaf, man? Don't you hear it?"

"What? There's nothing, not a sound!"

"Exactly. We are but three hundred metres away from the outer fortifications. There was a war on when we left, remember? _And_ the mother of all storms! Shouldn't we be able to hear _something_?"

"I don't care. We're much safer in the woods. I say its ten metres from here to the tree line through open meadow. Do you want to wait for the moon to hold Armand a candle?"

"Lance, it is way _too_ quiet for my taste!"

Right on cue, something stirred in the bushes on their right. Once. Twice.

A figure emerged from the brushwood by the wall.

Helmet closed.

Sword in hand.

And now, when thinking or debating was no longer an option, Gwaine and Lancelot acted as one. Minnie's husband found himself with a baby boy in his hands, as both knights, swords drawn, attacked the enemy.

The foreign warrior shouted something, but it couldn't be heard over Gwaine's and Lance's loud battle cries.

In the knights' backs, Minnie and her man climbed out of the vaults and made for the forest, for their dear lives and for the kids'.

They reached the tree line and felt safe for the first time since it had all begun.

Minnie, always practical, thought of home, of sleep, of barricades for their doors, warm milk for the kids and of what might be a reasonable price to charge for beer if one had to deal with an occupation force. After all one had to live, hadn't one? And they were four now, at least for the time being.

By the way, she had to talk to her sister-in-law, stupid bitch, but useful. She was young and she had been abroad. The kids could well be hers, could they not? Fruits of sin, taken in by the ever so pious, unselfish Minnie-the-saint. There, that should satisfy all nosy eyes and ears as well as boost business. Couldn't leave the little lambs behind some empty casks for all eternity, could one?

That was how far Minnie's deliberations had come when she was cruelly torn out of her peaceful thinking by two rough arms grabbing hers. She yelped and tried to hold on to Margaly but the child was wrenched out of her arms. By Minnie's side, her husband lost hold of Galahad.

Minnie saw red. She grabbed a branch and went for the nearest attacker. She hit him, back, shoulders, head, hip, wherever she could get through. The man danced around her, desperately trying to avoid her whirling club.

His comrade screamed something at the enraged woman which she neither understood nor heeded. When the man reached out for her, she turned and tried to fend him off. The soldier, hampered by the struggling child he held, tried to back off. Instinctively he raised his arms over his head.

It was the moment in which Minnie's foot slipped and she stumbled forward. Her arms beat the air as she fought for balance. The club came down with brutal force.

The crack with which Margaly's little skull broke was the most horrible sound Minnie had ever heard.

The blow from behind that sent her to oblivion she didn't even feel.


	16. Pits of hell

**16 **** Pits of hell**

Arthur had lost sight of Lance and Gwaine almost the moment he had joined Leon in the pursuit of the enemy soldiers towards the inner castle yard.

For all he knew the King yelled for his knights for the very last time ever to rally to him. As it was, his 'to me' and 'for the love of Camelot' reached a lot of ears deafened by death already.

In the end, Arthur, Leon and eight other knights, the last they could find anywhere near and on their feet, didn't make it to the inner yard. They reached the last intact pieces of the small battlements where they were apprehended by an enemy force that vastly outnumbered them.

The King and Leon exchanged one last glance before they were lost in the fighting. While the ground was still rocking under their feet, the storm raged and flames still roared all around them in spite of the rain pouring from a black, starless sky, Leon knew what was expected of him. Under no circumstances Arthur could be taken alive.

Quickly, much faster than they'd thought possible, they both stood back against back, knowing that their fight was almost over. With a loud roar, Leon pushed his opponent back, gained some space for manoeuvre, turned, raised his blade against his own King and laid all his remaining strength in one last blow.

Arthur saw the sword come down on his head as he looked at the clear sky. No cloud covered the moon, the stars were bright, the night was calm. It would be a fine morning, the dawn that saw the final fall of Camelot. He closed his eyes. Please, Gods, let it be over. Whatever it takes, as long as it is over, now.

The blow never fell.

The King opened his eyes, his free hand frantically searching for his knife, only thinking of how to kill himself as Leon had let him down.

Nobody tried to hinder him.

Leon, his last two knights still standing, even the handful of enemy soldiers that surrounded them, all stared, paralysed, at the events unfolding before their very eyes, on the main part of the battlefield in front of Camelot's collapsed outer walls.

Belatedly Arthur registered that the storm and rain were gone, the earthquake vanished and that all fighting had ceased.

Where the sorcerers had been whose chanting had brought about Camelot's fall, something like a wave of air, huge, metres high, inescapably built up behind the enemy's front line. This cloud did not fall from heaven, it rose from the ground, born not from air but from earth itself. Black, thick, lethal, always growing.

Distant thunder was audible while anyone held their breath.

The earth trembled again, yet slightly.

Suddenly, people started screaming again. But not inside Camelot. The screaming sounded from behind the enemies' back.

"Run" the leader of the enemy soldiers next to Arthur whispered. Then he yelled it, hysterically "_RUN_!" and now they were all in full flight, friend and foe alike, headless, senseless., running until they could run no more; they stumbled on bricks or other rubbish, over each other, even over their own swords. Sooner or later they all fell down to the ground.

Instinctively, Leon threw himself on Arthur when he fell, burying him under his body, covering him from anything that was about to come. Arthur struggled, but Leon held him down as best he could.

The thunder, a completely different sound than that of the storm before, was closer now, closing in on them, hunting them. Leon let go of his blade, wrapped his legs around the still frantically kicking younger man and covered both their heads with an enemy shield he'd grabbed. The best bet was, its owner had no further use for it.

A torrid hot gust of wind singed his back and Leon screamed in shock. The maelstrom's wake threatened to pull him off the ground. It robbed him of his breath, he choked and spat. Dust, sand and dirt caulked his nose and mouth and he fought for air. With all his might he clung to the piece of wall at his left side. Without its feeble protection, they'd both be doomed.

All around him people – if it were human voices – howled and whimpered in unbearable torment.

And then it was over.

All was quiet.

Leon waited. Waited for what hell-spawn their sorcerer enemies would conjure up now. Underneath him, Arthur was panting heavily. "Leon..."

"Shh! Quiet!" The knight pressed his hand on Arthur's mouth. Better, far better no one knew the King was alive. Perhaps they could just vanish in the wreck and ruin while anyone was still stunned by whatever had hit them.

Nothing happened. All stayed quiet. No one stirred.

One minute, three, five, then ten.

Finally someone moved a bit. Another moaned softly. One man tried to rub his eyes clean. All were dazed, their movement slow, tentative.

Slowly the last dust settled; the dried leaves, the torn rubbish that had come with the wind, all travelled softly back to the ground, undisturbed. All fires were gone. Only the moonlight shone on the scene of devastation.

Leon's gaze followed those of the men around him – friend, enemy, the difference seemed meaningless all of a sudden.

"Arthur" Leon stammered "Arthur, look at that." The knight pulled his King to his feet, pointing upwards, at the sky.

There, directly above Camelot's main tower, the fiery sign of a gigantic golden dragon glowed among the stars, while the magnificent Great Dragon himself was circling above the castle, screaming his own, glorious battle cry.

For a moment Arthur just stared, too shocked to react. Then, abruptly, he broke free from Leon's hand and climbed back to the top of the wall.

Leon followed him hastily, anxious that some lunatic last minute's action might bring the young King down.

However, there was no enemy.

Where Alined's and the Isle's main forces had been, the fields outside Camelot were levelled. Flattened, with a thick, shimmering dark crust on it as far as the eye could see. Like a frozen black sea, congealed in the very moment it threatened to flood the area. Far off, where the enemy's train would have been, some people apparently moved about but otherwise – neither thing nor man nor beast could be beheld. Whatever had hit them out there, it sure had left no survivors.

As Leon slowly comprehended that he was looking at the burying place of a whole army it also occurred to him that Arthur would be visible, in fact dramatically staged against the full moon in his back, with Excalibur glowing in his hand, a tantalizing goal for anyone who cared to look. Or shoot. "Sire, please..."

That was when Leon saw the first of the wretched men who aimlessly skulked through what was left of the small yard behind them, sank to his knees. "The dragon" the man suddenly shouted. "See the golden dragon. It's a sign, a sign from God!"

Others took up those words, until everyone said them, shouted, muttered, wept them. People pointed at the fire sign in the sky and at the golden dragon on Arthur's tunic, still visible though the shirt was torn. At Arthur's head shimmering golden in the unnaturally bright moonlight, at the golden dragon on the frayed banners that flapped in the now gentle breeze.

Leon had worried about Arthur's safety for nothing.

The King walked through the pack of people as unmolested and safe as a child would walk through the ranks of a benevolent family. Adored, worshipped, idolized. People tried to reach his hand, kiss his coat, whatever they could get hold of. They murmured his name, begged his forgiveness, asked for his blessing even. Leon saw many an enemy uniform under all the grime and rags of battle, but nobody seemed to mind that at all.

In a state of total, mindless exhaustion, Arthur just walked on. He appeared neither to see nor to hear what was happening around him. Like a sleepwalker, he just walked on and on, one step after another, let people around him do as they pleased, as long as he could walk on.

Slowly but surely men with the Camelot dragon on their clothes and swords joined their King on his way, swords drawn, just like Leon, treading softly, silently walking through the crowd, like dreamers. Knowing by some atavistic instinct that, if the rapture would go, if the awe would vanish, these same people would turn on them and tear them all to pieces.

All the time, the fire dragon glowed through the night.

It was a short walk before they reached the inner yard and Leon now guessed where Arthur was going – the healers' seminar. Where he had left his children.

The moment Arthur reached the open space in the yard's centre the crowd pushed back, yelping with fear, for the Great Dragon had left his position over the castle and landed in front of Camelot's King.

Arthur stood very still, oblivious of any danger. There was an obstacle in his way and if he took a moment to rest, to think, he would find a way around it, soon enough. Then he could walk on, which in fact was all he really cared about.

Khilgarrah folded his wings and straightened his back until he reached his full height. Then, unbelievably gracefully for such a tall beast, he bowed his head in front of the King down to the ground.

All people present held their breath. It was utterly quiet, until one, big roar of exaltation echoed from the walls.

For many years to come people told their kids and grandchildren of what the Great Dragon had said to the King in this moment, and what the King had said, and how it had been a glorious moment, and all the crowd had cheered "Hail, Arthur, Hail to the King of Camelot!" The banners had flown in the wind, proud and erect, the knights had sworn their undying allegiance to their King and Arthur Pendragon, wise and sage, the King of Destiny, had allowed them all to rise and told them all that they were dear to him, like his own children, and that no harm would come to them or anyone in Camelot, ever again. And so it had been, and they had all lived happily ever after and there had been a huge feast at the King's expense, with food and wine for everybody.

But then, only a bright story warms the heart when the presence is cold and prospects are bleak.

On the actual occasion, things were slightly different.

The crowd surged forwards again, cheering like mad "Hail Arthur, hail the King of Camelot", but there ended the legend's truthfulness. The knights, only two or three pitiable handfuls of them almost toppling over with tiredness, did their best to keep their King safe from the madly pressing mob. However, Khilgarrah's roar and his spitefully bared teeth did more for Arthur's safety than all their swords.

Arthur, for one, realized belatedly whom he was talking to. "Where is he?" he asked the Great Dragon. "Will they come back?"

The Dragon had no need to ask who 'he' or 'they' were. "I'll come to you" he said to Arthur, already lifting up from the ground. "I know I will."

Overawed, people saw the Dragon's departure. Slowly the fire dragon in the sky faded away.

Clueless as to what should happen now, what was going to come next, people started to look around. At each other, some with regained hostility. Some at their surroundings, remembering why they had originally come.

But most people stared at the young blond man in the centre.

"Talk to the people, Sire" Leon urged, who more felt than heard the crowd stirring restlessly all around them. It was a dangerous moment.

"Oh, well. I think you are right" Arthur replied, as if he was in his throne room, discussing tomorrow's banquet, and Leon froze with fear that it had all been too much for his young sovereign. That he had just snapped and that in the next moment, everyone would see he had.

Again, Leon worried over nothing.

A lifetime's habit was stronger than conscious thought when Arthur climbed on the next available pile of rubbish from which he could be seen and raised his sword. As always, Excalibur gleamed mysteriously in its own light. Again, the crowd murmured in renewed awe. "People of Camelot" Arthur shouted, and the crowd fell silent, satisfied. This was the natural development of things. Once miracles had started, the show had to go on, and it was the inborn responsibility of the man in the centre of these miracles to provide the necessary solution and seal to this night of all nights. They demanded it of a King. They were _entitled_!

"People of Camelot" Arthur shouted again. "We have seen great wonders on this day. Heaven has protected us, and shown us great mercy, in delivering us from the hand of our enemies. All good powers have rallied to our banner, encouraged by your bravery, your perseverance and your good faith. What has been destroyed will be rebuilt. What has been taken away, will be regained. What has been lost will be reclaimed. We carry in our hearts the grieve and mourning for those who are no longer with us and it is our responsibility to see to it that they did not give their lives for nothing. Together, as friends and as compatriots, we will build a new future from the wretched past. Where hatred ruled, reconciliation will bring peace. For Albion. For all of us. For the love of Camelot!"

Arthur let his arms sink. With a last effort, he refrained from a hysteric chuckle in front of anyone. How his almost shut down brain had come up with the exact recall of this nice little piece of politics-by-hot-air was beyond him. To think that this had been the speech Morgana had originally prepared for herself, when she had still thought she and her sorcerers would take Camelot from Uther, to drive out every Christian and magic-hater in the land, to people it with magicians and Druids alone.

The crowd knew nothing of that. Once more they were mad with enthusiasm, and, as nobody hindered them, found their way to the thin ale as well as to heaps of food and other storages. With that, people were busy enough until their bodies demanded their right and they fell asleep wherever they stood.

One of Camelot's three surviving guard officers was bright enough to summon a few guard soldiers to protect the vaults with the wine or stronger spirits by telling anyone that these cellars were the lepra quarters of the healers' seminar. Collateral damage of the victory-turned-armistice-turned-reconciliation-party was thereby limited.

Not that, outside the palace, there was much left that _could _be further damaged.

Arthur's further walk was another bath in the exalted crowd until he and Leon finally caught up with Gaius in front of the seminar. "The kids are on their way out through the vaults" the healer said urgently, anticipating Arthur's question. "Lancelot and Gwaine are taking them."

Arthur nodded, turned on his heel, pointed at two soldiers lurking in the entrance of the infirmary for a chance to have some minor battle wounds treted, to follow him and was off.

"Your Majesty" Leon called out. "What shall we..."

"For the Gods' sake, use your loaf for once, Leon" Gaius hissed angrily. "Leave him alone, we know what to do. And I am, correct me from wrong, at present the highest ranking Council Member after you."

"Thanks for the 'after you'" Leon muttered, admitting only to himself that he was utterly relieved to have the old, shrewd healer by his side. Together they pulled out every man jack they could find in the madly feasting, cheering, laughing crowd who wore anything resembling a Camelot uniform and an at least partly clear head on his shoulders, to keep up some last shred of order in the wilderness.

As to the presumed remnants of the enemy army outside town and citadel, there was nothing that _could_ be done but hope that devastation and despair was big enough to keep the enemy at bay at least until morning.

It didn't need the visible proof of the shambles of an emergency crew Leon and Gaius were able to assemble to tell the knight that Camelot had been victorious at the price of being almost completely bled out.

Therefore, Leon and Gaius just looked at each other helplessly when hard hooves beat the badly battered drawbridge – though, that anyone should trouble himself with using the bridge while Camelot's battlements lay in ruins on two of the citadel's four sides was not very logical.

However, the next second brought clarity on that.

Perhaps Malcolm Branguard, Lord Saltyre, would take a path through stones and dirt. But for Duke Marke of Cornwall and Malcolm's brother Angus Baron of Ravenclaw, such a thing was unthinkable.

With their grand attire, their fine horses and the well rested, well fed men, the newly arrived Branguard and Cornish forces were a surreal sight in Camelot's shambles.

Marke just stared, his shoulders slouched, at the catastrophic picture.

"_Yes My Lord__ Duke_" Gaius thought bitterly. "**Y**_**our**__ doing. A fine day's work for Christian love and peacefulness, is it not. And __all for a young__ girl's__ pretty face and an old man's __stupidity_."

Leon, baffled, had to pull himself together to remember his duty. He reported to both Branguards that the fight inside the citadel was won, the present situation chaotic but safe and that the King would eventually be back to explain everything.

Lord Saltyre, after one long look at the exhausted knight, at the madness around him, and at the miserable soldiers behind Leon, smiled warmly. "Thank you, Sir Leon. I can take it from here. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, My Lord." Leon saluted, turned and ran.

"He has a wife to find" Gaius said. "Your Lordship must forgive him."

"Forgive?" an aghast Angus ranted. "Who's talking about forgiving anything? I mean, _look_ at the place. It's an outrage. Unforgivable, that's what it is. Where's Arthur?"

"Doubtlessly busy" Malcolm said curtly to his brother. "Or do you think he's having a nap?"

Gaius sent a silent prayer to the Great Mother in gratitude for Malcolm Branguard's return. In fact, the healer was so very glad for the support this meant to Arthur that he wasn't in the least bit ruffled when Angus snapped his next question at him in the rudest possible manner: "Where the hell is Princess Margaly?"


	17. Tears of Gold

**17 Tears of gold**

Crying openly Minnie's husband stammered through his desperate pleas for mercy for his wife. It had been an accident, Minnie had only tried to help, not for the life of hers she would ever have harmed the little Princess, surely His Majesty would know that?

The two soldiers busied themselves by alternately pushing and shoving the crestfallen, sobbing man, eager to avoid taking part of the blame for the Crown Princess' death. After all, a soldier had been holding Margaly when the wretched peasant woman had stumbled... best not to remind the King of that little detail.

Arthur had neither thought nor pity for Minnie or her husband. All he could see or hear right now was his little daughter lying in front of him, motionless, her little face smeared with blood and some matter he didn't want to think about. He whispered her name, again and again. "Margaly..."

Behind him, a few steps away, Gwaine watched the scene with a cramp in his chest. "_How much more_" he thought. "_How much more before he snaps_?"

In spite of appearances, Gwaine had never been a careless, hare-brained idiot by nature. Just sometimes by his own free choice. Life was easier for an idiot, or so he'd thought.

But he no longer was his own man, he'd become part of something bigger, of a community named Camelot and of a bunch of people who for some stupid reason seemed to think that caring and standing up for each other meant something in this world.

As such, his sympathy for the young royal kneeling in the grass made Gwaine much more clear-sighted than he liked to be.

A whole chain of thoughts ran through his brain, aligning what he had seen tonight with Gwaine's experience in life. With people, circumstances and how they both connected.

One thing was certain: A miracle had occurred. Somehow Arthur had won an unwinnable war: Camelot had defeated the Isle of the Blessed in open battle. And yet, when the two Camelot guard soldiers wrestled with Minnie so very haplessly, Arthur had taken off his helmet one, god-damned second too late to save his daughter's life.

The irony was, nobody would care about that. Margaly's death was just collateral damage. Unlike Uther's records, the victory Arthur had achieved today was not marred by betrayal, or an unprovoked pre-emptive strike, or any other dishonourable conduct on Pendragon's side.

After today, no Kingdom in Albion could ignore that one big power had risen in their midst. These last hours, this gruesome, horrid slaughterhouse of a day and a night, would bring the High Kings' Crown to Arthur's head.

"_Imagine_" Gwaine thought bitterly "_how very much Arthur would want to trade the pretty bauble for his little girl_!"

The knight heard heavy breathing in his back and a soft whimpering. Lance still held Galahad in his arms and the child was waking up.

The only child Arthur Pendragon had left.

The _wrong_ child, by all respects which up to now were known to only a small circle.

Yet, it was the baptised child, not the daughter of the Isle, who would live on. The _Christian _child.

The significance of that fact could not be overrated. History is written by the winner and what people believe is much more important than facts.

The Isle had chosen the path of violence freely, so anyone would say and, in the end, believe. As the Isle had declared an unprovoked war on Christianity, Arthur had fought and won in the name of Christianity against the insurgents from the Old Religion.

With that, fate had chosen Arthur's path for him.

No more balancing the Old and the New Religion, no more compromises between magicians' traditions and Christian beliefs, no more bartering about Council Membership or the balance of fiefdoms - Arthur's and Morgana's enlightened idea of a peaceful union of the two faiths was dead.

Human avarice, human frailty had killed it in favour of another concept that was not enlightened at all. But this concept was liked well enough, and craved for, time and again, whenever and wherever people got frightened - One King, one God, one Country.

A Golden Age for the one half at the expense of the other, sealed by the blood of thousands of good men as well as that of one helpless, innocent little girl.

Gwaine tasted bile on his tongue. Idiots, bloody, dimwitted, foolish idiots! For all their magic, for all their power, for all their centuries old knowledge, the Isle had simply, childishly played into the hands of Erec and the likes of him.

Merlin, where were you when you were most needed, by magicians and non-magicians alike? Why weren't you there, to tell them all where they can stick their darn foolishness?

Without you, a handful of fanatics on both sides and an old man's nitwit scheme for warming his bed with a young woman's body had sufficed to achieve what Uther Pendragon had desired in vain - the total annihilation of the Old Religion.

All these years you fought for your great destiny, Merlin, my friend, and now all we've got is a heap of shards.

Time to sweep up behind you, young warlock, Gwaine decided. And I'll start with the new Crown Prince of Camelot. Galahad Pendragon, may the Great Mother have mercy on the poor brat and on his father.

Gwaine knew he couldn't spare Arthur much of what was to come but one, tiny thing he _could_ do – avoid another discussion about Galahad's father and Arthur's marriage to the good, pious and oh so very Christian Lady Guinivere.

Resolutely the knight turned, grabbed the little boy before Lance could react, walked over and without so much as one word shoved the child unto Arthur's lap.

Lance yelled his protest and leaped forward, but he froze when Gwaine's hand was in his hairs and his knife was at the enraged Baron's throat. "Listen, Lance and listen carefully" Gwaine hissed through bared teeth, "go back to the citadel, take what's left of your men, get the hell out of here and if in future one, just _one_, breath of scandal stems from you, I swear I'll cut your damned heart out of you while it's still beating!"

Lancelot hesitated. He was good, he knew that. Very good. He could defeat Gwaine. Kill him, even now.

But then, what?

Kill Arthur?

Kill the soldiers, the still unconscious woman, her wobbling husband, kill all witnesses to the outrageous murder?

Sure, why not.

But how to explain the killings to the people in Camelot?

With Arthur being slain when no enemies had been around, suspicion would rise. Rumours would spread and in the end, people would remember talk that Galahad had not one drop of Pendragon blood in his veins.

People would remember who had profited from the child's ascension to the throne.

Panting with the effort it cost to restrain his fury, Lancelot let go of the sword hilt, smiled and raised both hands in surrender. "It's all right, Gwaine. You win. Just let me go. I came to help, remember?"

"Like a snake comes to deliver its poison" Gwaine snarled. "I've falsely trusted you once, I do not make the same mistake twice. Get lost!"

And, unbelievably for Gwaine, Lance did just that.

Gwaine had a sick feeling in his guts. _He who lives and runs away may yet fight another day. _He should have killed Lancelot and thought of a good excuse later_._

However, he had no time to ponder that. The sound of a horse galloping off at top speed made him turn round abruptly, just in time to see Arthur depart, with Galahad in his arm and Margaly's little body over the saddle in front of him.

Gwaine roared in shock at the two unfortunate soldiers who had let go of Minnie's husband. "Where's the King going, you assholes? Can't you fucking see the man doesn't know what he's doing!"

"Sor... sorry, Sir, My Lord, but the King – demanded to be left alone. The child... I don't know..."

"No, for sure you don't know anything, you noodle. What about these two?" Gwaine pointed at Minnie, who was just about to come to, and her man by her side.

"I.. don't know" the guard stammered again. "The dungeons, perhaps?"

"Take them to Gaius to have a look at the woman. Tell him it's by my order. You have horses available?"

"Yes, Sir. Behind the bushes. Two."

"No" Gwaine said menacingly "one. I take the other."

The last he saw of the two soldiers was both of them heaving an injured Minnie on the horse and lead the sorry little caravan away towards the citadel, to whatever safety and comfort it could offer.

After that, Gwaine concentrated fully on not loosing sight of Arthur.

He chased after the young King, who didn't turn or otherwise show he knew he was followed, until they reached a piece of woodland too dense for the mounts.

Arthur left his horse tethered to a tree and entered the forest on foot, still with both children. A moment later, Gwaine followed suit.

Arthur fought his way through the brushwood with great resolve but no visible purpose. "What are you up to, my boy?" a bewildered Gwaine muttered to himself.

After a few more minutes, Arthur left the undergrowth and stepped into a clearing with a well springing from some rock. The trees, which had so far created a roof over their heads too tight even for the bright early morning light to come through, gave way and opened up for a look at the light blue sky.

Tenderly, Arthur laid down both kids in the grass.

"Dragon" he suddenly shouted. "Where are you? If Merlin sent you, as I know he can, you must come to me."

"_Now that will be heard, I'm sure_" Gwaine thought, amused in spite of the dire circumstances. "_Shouldn't you be a Dragonlord for that_?"

He almost fell on his back when gigantic wings flapped, the sunlight was darkened by a huge shadow sinking down and then the magnificent beast sat once more directly in front of the King of Camelot. "You called for me as I knew you would, King Arthur" Khilgarrah said calmly.

Pendragon was tensed up; Gwaine, just four or five metres away hidden in the brushwood, saw the erect back tremble under the chain-mail.

"Then you will also know what I want" Arthur said boldly. "Give me back my child!"

"This" the Dragon said placidly "I cannot do!"

"You are a creature of magic, the most powerful creature of all. _I _was magically conjured up in my mother's womb, I know you can create life, so you can also give it back."

Khilgarrah lowered his mighty head until his eyes were almost at level with the desperate human gaze. "There was a spark of life already there, young King, in your father's body as well as in your mother's. It was this spark that was kindled into the flame that would one day become you. And yet Nimueh had no right to do what she did. It was against the laws of nature."

"Because my mother was not meant to have a son? Because I wasn't meant to live?"

Sadly, the Dragon shook his head. "No, nothing of that. No blame was or is with you. Yet the High Priestess knew that for one life to be given, one life must be taken, no magic in this world can change that. And who was she, or Uther Pendragon, to make that choice?"

Arthur swallowed hard before he could go on. "Who made the choice that my mother was to die for me? Was it my father?"

"Nature chose" Khilgarrah sighed. "Or call it fate, or God or whatever word takes your fancy. Uther Pendragon knew he uttered a death sentence for an innocent human being when he ordered your creation. But he did not guess it would be his wife. If he had, things would be different today."

"He loved my mother?" Arthur whispered, and it sounded very wistful.

Khilgarrah answered very gravely. "I've known your father for a very long time and there wasn't much love in his heart but for himself and for his power. Yet if your father ever loved another person at all then this person was Igraine."

"Then in my mother's name" Arthur pleaded, "in the name of the love she received and gave, in the name of the Old Religion itself that lives or dies with my daughter, I beg you again, to give me back my child!"

The dragon raised his head. "You would repeat your father's crime and say who should live and who should die for no crime of his own?"

"No" Arthur replied calmly. "I went out to bring peace to Camelot but I cannot do it. I, my name, my family, am at the heart of all quarrel in the land. Give us, give _me_, peace, Khilgarrah. Let Margaly live. Take my life instead."

"That" the Dragon said again "I cannot do. Merlin and Morgana took fate in their own hands and changed it. I can no longer see your destiny, only that it hasn't been fulfilled yet. You must live. I must not interfere."

Arthur nodded. Then he unsheathed Excalibur and aimed the blade at his own heart. "I'm sorry" he said. "But I think the decision is for me to make."

"It will be useless" the Dragon warned. "The sacrifice will be in vain!"

"I don't think so!"

"You will not bring about your child's resurrection without my help, young Pendragon. And I will _not_ lend my hand to your destruction. However, there is perhaps " Khilgarrah said silkily "one other possibility."

"Which one?" Arthur said hastily.

Gwaine, shuddering in his hiding place, knew the answer even before the dragon said it: "Your Majesty has brought another child adorned with the Pendragon crest. Galahad's blood would reconcile fate. I might offer his life to the Great Mother in exchange for your daughter's."

"No!" Arthur screamed it. "You can't demand that of me!"

"He's not what he should be, little Galahad, is he. For all his healthy looks when he was born."

"I know he will never be a knight, I know he's deaf, he will never talk, his eyesight is limited, he will never wield a blade! And yet..."

"And yet...?" Khilgarrah tempted.

"And yet he is my _son_" Arthur shouted despairingly.

"Is he? Are you so very sure of that?"

Arthur looked down at the little boy in the grass at his feet. Excalibur sparkled in the rays of sunlight. Galahad kicked his legs in the air. He smiled at the face above him. Nothing but friendliness had come from these features to him, he knew it.

The King took an eternity to just stare at the happily gurgling child while Gwaine held his breath. "_Do it, Arthur_" he thought spontaneously. "_Do it now. The boy will be miserable all his life anyway, his death would be a second chance. To bring magic back to Camelot in peace was Merlin's quest__ in life, his mission, please, do not let him down as I have done_!"

By now, Khilgarrah seemed quite bored. "Your decision, Your Majesty. Which child should live and which should die? I'm waiting."

Arthur sheathed his blade, picked up both his children and looked at the Great Dragon. "My father" he said with an effort "was right after all – the power magic gives will corrupt the strongest hearts in the end. Merlin must have been the exception that proves the rule. Perhaps even he, if he had lived longer, he and my sister..."

The King halted, his head half raised towards the Dragon. Waiting, apparently. Perhaps waiting for an answer that never came. Khilgarrah kept his silence about the warlock's fate, and that of his Queen.

With a shrug, Arthur turned his back on the Dragon and only when he walked away, he spoke again. "You're banned from my realm, on pain of death. If you ever return, I will hunt you down, like my father before me, and this time you will die!"

"I hear you" the Dragon answered. "And I will heed your command. Tomorrow night will find me out of your reach, forever."

The King nodded curtly, then he left.

Gwaine wanted to follow him, but found he couldn't move. Whatever he tried with gritted teeth and all his strength, it didn't help.

"Patience, Sir Knight" the Dragon said with mild amusement as soon as Arthur was out of earshot. "You've done enough stalking for one day. Merlin, too, had some trouble respecting the word 'privacy' sometimes."

"You have no right to lecture me" Gwaine retorted angrily. "Not after what you did to Arthur a moment ago."

"You weren't averse, I heard your thoughts."

"So much for privacy then" Gwaine spat.

Khilgarrah _giggled_. To Gwaine's utmost, breathtaking fascination, the huge beast actually _giggled_. "You were wrong, Sir Knight, by the way. Merlin would never have condoned the sacrifice of Galahad or of any other child. Killing children was not his vision of bringing magic back to Camelot. Nor mine."

Aggressively, Gwaine broke through the shrubs out to the clearing. "Then what was all this about, eh? Why the torment, if you didn't mean it?"

"If Arthur had tried to kill the boy, I'd prevented it. I was only testing the young King."

"Testing him! _Testing _him? For the Gods' sake, hasn't he been tested enough? First his father's betrayal, the ordeal of Osric's ritual, then his wife abandons him, one of his friends betrays him, others abandon him at the first sign of trouble, Camelot is in shambles again and again, whatever he tries to keep it safe, Merlin and Morgana are gone, now his child is dead and you think the man needs to be _tested_?"

"It seems that you have _not_ abandoned him, Sir Knight. And I somehow think you are a very good friend to him. He'll need you before the month is out."

Gwaine raised his hands in a plea he did not really know he was making. "Arthur doesn't need me, or Leon or any other knight. He needs Merlin. We all do. Send him back to us, please. Without him, Camelot will perish. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I know it is inevitable."

Khilgarrah shuffled his claws on the ground. He seemed... touched. And, unbelievable again in a creature such as he, he looked powerless and even vulnerable. "It's over" he finally said. "The hope we all had, Merlin's quest in life – it is over. After this stupid, senseless war, magic no longer has a place in Albion. Arthur has to choose sides, and he _has _chosen. In the shadow of the Christian churches, Merlin would be a liability to the King of Camelot and High King of Albion."

"What has happened to Merlin and Morgana" Gwaine asked. "Can't you tell me that at least?"

The Great Dragon shook his head once more. "The Old Religion's era is finished" he said "Magic has to hide and wait for another, warmer world to come. When people's minds are open, and their hearts more welcoming. When the carpenter and others like him will not be used as pawns for power."

Khilgarrah readied his wings. "Come new moon, tomorrow, at midnight, the Isle of the Blessed will fade away from this realms and I will join it. Farewell, Sir Knight. Chances are, we'll never meet again. Take care of your King, in your friend, the warlock's, name."

Gwaine screamed at the top of his lungs. "Can't you for once spare a mere human the ethereal blabbering and just give me a straight answer!"

"I've told you all there is to tell, Sir Knight. Give Gaius my regards. We were good friends once, in better times..."

Despairing, Gwaine saw the dragon vanish in the clouds.

He let his head sink to his chest for a moment.

What a day it had been.

Gwaine walked back to where he had left his horse, only to find two mounts grazing.

Arthur was sitting on a sunny spot in the grass, softly cooing to Galahad, who seemed much pleased. Not by the sound, of course. But by the attention he got and by the gentle hands that cuddled him.

Gwaine winced violently when his gaze fell on Margaly's corpse lying by Galahad's side.

It seemed so wrong, somehow.

"You took your time" Arthur said.

"Talking to a dragon can be very distracting" Gwaine replied awkwardly.

The King rose, looked briefly at Gwaine with a cocked brow, and pushed Galahad into the other's arms. "Let's go, Sir Gwaine" he said whilst mounting his horse with Margaly. "We have a funeral to prepare."

"That applies to a lot of people in Camelot" Gwaine retorted when he followed.

"They are burying loved ones or neighbours" Arthur replied. "We are going to bury a dream tonight. _Merlin's_ dream."

Unwittingly Gwaine fingered the much frayed symbol of the Round Table on his torn tunic. "What about _your_ dreams, Sire?"

Arthur looked at the little body in his arms and Gwaine didn't ask again.

Only when they reached Camelot's outer gates – or what was left of them in their hinges – Gwaine couldn't stay quiet any longer. "How could you ever forgive me?" he asked. "If Merlin and Morgana had been here, if I hadn't left them behind..."

"What if" Arthur interrupted him coldly whilst dismounting "is a futile game for scholars. It won't bring bread on our tables nor roofs over our heads. I suggest you roll up your sleeves and maybe we've got so much work, we can forget that we both can never forgive ourselves."


	18. Prometheu's penalty

**18 Prometheus' penalty**

Armand cursed viciously under his breath when his stallion stumbled for the umpteenth time. Not that he hadn't had it coming. Ever since he'd made an extremely narrow escape from Camelot's battlefield, he'd constantly asked too much of the animal.

The poor bugger was done for, no doubt about it. Tired out and wounded, the beast would not carry him much further.

He dismounted, pondered for a second to kill the horse, but couldn't get his heart around the thought.

The stink of death was in his nostrils, on his skin, his hands, his clothes.

Dead lay the proud forces of magicians, dead many of those he'd taught their art, dead those of whom he'd thought as the new era, the future of the Isle of the Blessed.

Too many dead already, men and beast.

Morgwyn took saddle and bridle off and slapped his mount on the back until the stallion cantered a few paces away with his last strength, whinnying miserably.

"Go away, you idiot" Armand said. "Before someone sees you and takes you for his plate. That's all you are from now on, a piece of meat."

The once beautiful, magnificent stallion looked at his master questioningly. His ears twitched. He was unwilling to leave his human companion of many years.

"Still thinking you have a duty to fulfil, aye?" Armand asked with a dry laugh. "You don't know when to better quit, just like Arthur. Go away, I tell you. It's the butcher for you and the gallows for me if they catch us. It was all for nothing, y' hear me?"

The stallion perked his head up once or twice, neighed softly, and was gone.

Morgwyn pulled himself together and began his walk.

And though he walked and walked, all he really wanted was sleep. Lie down, and never get up again. His dreams, his hopes, his great schemes – ashes and dust. The Isle would rise no more. He would have given in, laid down and awaited his death, had it not been for one last task not yet fulfilled.

While he walked, Armand silently wrestled with his own remorse.

He'd never trusted Morgana, nor the aristocrats or other notabilities of the Pendragon court, who'd turned their coats from one Pendragon rule to the other. Sail with the tide, Camelot, aye, sail with the tide.

But the High Master had had faith in Arthur and Merlin. More fool he was to think that two naïve, moony boys could change the tides of time.

And when Arthur had become weak, when he'd gone astray, when he'd forsaken those who'd paved his way into power, when he had taken sides with those who would abandon him at the first sight of a better bargain, it had all seemed so simple.

Teach the royal boy a lesson, give him a real scare, show him how power had to be shared among the peoples of Albion. Most of all, drive a wedge between him and this slimy, greedily sucking Christian worms that made up his court. All of this was to be achieved by one, decisive strike against the heart of Camelot. No dragged out war, no long campaigns with thousands of deaths – what for?

A clear victory for the Isle would have given Armand leverage enough to force any peace agreement on Arthur that the Isle dictated. Subsequently, the High Master – in Morgause's name, of course – could have taken the Princess Margaly, and brought up the heir to the Crown of Camelot on the Isle of the Blessed, as a true daughter of the Old Religion.

Peace, stability, reliability had been within his reach – Armand's had been the one final battle to end all battles.

Morgwyn knew he could have done it; he _would_ have done it, had he not been betrayed by his own people. Yes, that was the bitter truth of his defeat; Armand of Morgwyn, High Master of the Blessed Isle, Chosen Consort of the High Priestess herself, had been betrayed by the very same power he'd fought all his life to protect.

And he had thought he knew every twist of Morgause's mind, that he had total control over her!

He should have seen her betrayal coming, back in Ealdor, then and there. With Morgana, his sister, as well as Merlin, his best and closest friend, the only magician of some standing who'd always be unconditionally loyal to him, being in Morgwyn's hold, Arthur would have been hard put to defy the Isle in anything. But magic had taken Merlin and Morgana away, right under Armand's nose – he should have known it wasn't a coincidence.

After today, the High Master could no longer deceive himself. Neither the horrid magical torrent, which destroyed Alined's forces together with Armand's sorcerers, nor the Great Dragon's timely attack had come out of the blue to rescue an already beaten Pendragon King from surrender and captivity.

There was only one will in this universe strong enough, one power focused enough and one talent schooled enough to achieve so total an annihilation as Morgwyn had seen it at Camelot

The High Master had been defeated by the very heart, the very core of the Isle itself – the representative of the Great Mother on Earth, the High Priestess – Morgause.

This name, this betrayal was what kept the distraught man upright and on his feet.

If all was lost, if all he'd ever done had been in vain, he would not leave this world without her.

Oh, he should have known better than to trust her oaths of undying love and allegiance, he should have known in the end she'd always chose her sister over him, he should have killed the bitch when he still could.

Why on earth had he not seen it coming?

Again and again Morgause had spat on all sacred rules of the Old Religion, to keep her family in power, to foster them above all else.

When Morgause refused to have her unnatural sister killed, the destroyer, the born vessel of all evil, even after Merlin, in defiance of all laws of the Isle, had got the Pendragon tart pregnant – Armand should have known he couldn't rely on the High Priestess any longer.

Morgwyn had made her what she was and she _dared _betray him!

Armand would not let that go unpunished.

It was the second nightfall after the battle that he reached the shores of the Sacred Lake.

He called for the boat, but it was nowhere to be found.

Mists swirled over the lake and on its shores. It was dead quiet, no bird, no tree that stirred. The moon rose, but it could only be guessed as its light shimmered vaguely through the fog.

Morgwyn shrugged with a sarcastic grin. If Morgause wanted to play so childish a game, he'd not disappoint her. All her tricks would only delay the inevitable, now that he knew who was behind his downfall. It would take all three ancient powers of magic combined to fend him off, and _t__hat _Morgause would not achieve!

The High Master raised his arms and called for his power.

His magic surged through his body, a hot current in his veins, fighting the restrictions of his physical existence. He screamed in triumph when it became one with nature around him, with every stone, every piece of life that slept in the woods.

The water swirled and flooded to and fro, restless and nervous, like a living being. It formed high walls to his left and right. A path was dry in between, it would lead him directly to the Isle itself.

Morgause would no longer mock him.

Wrapped in his power, protected by it as by a dark, floating coat rimmed with light, Armand stepped into the lake and the water pulled back even further, away from him.

The High Master walked with confidence on the lake's now dry ground, ten steps, twenty, thirty.

He walked on and on before he noticed that he had walked too far. Around him he saw and heard the water, the fog, the howling wind that had come with his power. Nothing else.

Furious, Armand turned left, he turned right, walked back and forwards again.

The Sacred Lake was bare and desolate. There was no land. Where the white towers should have been glowing in the moonlight, where the strong walls of the inner temple should have greeted him and where the Sacred Lights should have shone through the windows – all he could see was a grey, heaving, lifeless mass of water.

"_MORGAUSE!_"

Armand thundered the name into the darkness. He ran, blade unsheathed and raised high, the veins and muscles in his neck protruding in his wrath. "_MORGAUSE!_"

Suddenly the water stirred violently. It banked up until it towered high above his head. The wind screamed, a high pitched tone which told the exhausted man that it was under his control no longer.

Stumbling, falling and finally crawling, Armand reached the safe shore a mere second before the waters fell from their height to the ground of the Sacred Lake, burying and drowning all in their reach beneath them.

Panting heavily, speechless, Armand stared at Khilgarrah sitting by the Lake. "Have you..." the High Master stammered "why did you..."

"Save you from the fate you deserve?" the Great Dragon retorted acidly. "Indeed, why did I? Ask the one who begged me to save your worthless skin."

"Where is he?" Morgwyn howled with freshly found rage. "What has your master done to the Isle of the Blessed?"

"Merlin has nothing to do with your survival" the dragon said. "But there is one other being in this world whose call in need I can't forgo, as no creature of magic could forgo her plea. Your life is the Lady Morgause's last gift to you. Unlike her, I doubt your ability to use it wisely."

Armand shivered when the contours of the huge beast became blurred. The dragon seemed to melt away into the mists that danced around him. "She can't" he whispered, horrified. "She can't do that. She has no right..."

"It was you who left the Lady no choice, High Master. The verdict is clear: You lived by the sword, you lived by force, by violence and by betrayal. You shall go on living by these means to all eternity, and only those who do the same shall be your friends. For you have forced magic to withdraw from these earthly realms and for that, magic now abandons _you_, forever."

"Please" Armand stammered. His fight had left him, he was shaking with fear, "please...not that..." then, all of a sudden, he roared again, with desperate rage "Morgause can't do this, High Priestess or no. There is no congregation of magic in all Albion powerful enough to install a curse of exile against a High Master of the Isle."

"If I were you" Khilgarrah retorted, whilst his features became more and more indistinct "I would not rely on that."

"Why shouldn't I?" Armand came up trumps, laughing. "All three ancient powers must unite to exile me. The Isle, the Dragons and..."

"The Druids" the dragon finished his sentence for him. " Algernon and the Druid Elders will join the Isle when it fades from this world, tonight."

"You're lying, Khilgarrah. I don't believe you."

"Think again" said the the dragon. "Did you really think that the people who fear for their kids any time you go near them would fight for you? Algernon came up with the whole scheme of the Isle withdrawing from this world, Algernon risked his life when he came here to talk to Morgause and it was Algernon who brought us the ancient spell of exile for a scoundrel like you!"

"Curse the bloody bastard!" Armand screamed in despair. "He delivered Albion into the hands of Christian fanatics. What future do they bring to the Druid tribes? The pyre and the sword, that's all they'll ever have to give to Algernon's people!"

"Not without magic" Khilgarrah retorted icily. "The Christians can't burn innocent people on the pyre for witchcraft that does no longer exist in the real world."

Armand laughed hysterically, "Was Uther Pendragon ever interested in his victims' guilt or innocence? Will the Church not do the same, if it suits their purpose? Are you really _that_ naïve?"

The Great Dragon shook his head. "Do not split hairs with me, Morgwyn, whatever crimes the Church will commit, it was you, your willingness to use foul means or fair to reach your goal, that made them powerful enough to do it. Twist and turn as much as you like, High Master: Your fate has been sealed by your own deeds."

Before Armand's aghast eyes, the Great Dragon rose to his full height and enfolded his wings. "Hear me, Armand of Morgwyn, once High Master of the Isle of the Blessed - From this day on, you will wander this world alone. No magic shall aid you, no child of the Old Religion see you, no creature of the wood, of the sky or of the waters will heed you, all humans will loath you but the greatest villains. Children will flee from you and death himself will not claim you, until the day on which the Isle's gates will be opened again by the last of the High Priestesses. Only Morgause's life force can open the doors she has closed."

"That's impossible as soon as Morgause and the Isle have left this world, taking all magic with them" Armand whined.

"You were so high and mighty when it came to deciding the fate of others" Khilgarrah's fading voice answered. "So full of ideas and of great plans. Live on them yourself for a change!"

With that, the Great Dragon was gone.

The Lake was sleeping peacefully in the light of the full moon. No mist, no clouds tarnished the glittering mirror in which the stars' reflection shone through the night. The Sacred Waters were serene, mysterious and silent.

The Isle of the Blessed was nowhere to be seen.

Armand fell to his knees. He muttered something to himself, he didn't know what.

He looked at his hands. Mere hours ago, the hands of a seasoned but strong warrior. Now two trembling, brittle, wrinkled things. Hastily he crawled closer to the water, stared at his image as it was shown to him and screamed out in heart breaking anguish.

He was bald, but for a few tufts of white, grizzly hair. His face was haggard, disfigured by wrinkles and sallow.

He was old. Old and feeble and unbelievably ugly.

For how long he gave himself to his misery he could not say.

Finally he felt he was cold, and very tired. A few metres away from the lake shore, a way that cost him a considerable part of his remaining strength to make, he called for his magic to light a fire, like he had always done, since his fourth birthday.

Magic wouldn't come. Where it had been, he felt a deep, cold, dark cavern in his soul. Empty. And useless.

Armand curled up on the forest ground, covered his aching body with his coat and did something he hadn't done in many, many years – he cried and cried until sleep put him out of his misery for a few, precious hours. When he fell asleep, just before he was lost to the world, it felt as if something brushed by his mind, like a hand touching his forehead, but it was gone before he was sure it had been really there. The last warm, considerate, longing touch he'd ever feel.

In the morning, he would not remember it.

He woke up when a man's voice shouted at him. "What are you doing here, old man? You'll freeze to death out here. Where are your folks?"

Bewildered, Armand stared at the handful of people standing around him. A merchant, by the looks of him, travelling with his wife, teenage daughter and an escort of mercenaries.

Again, the man asked for Armand's name and family.

Morgwyn swallowed once and cleared his throat. "Jeffrey" he then said. "Jeffrey from Gryffyn, Sir."

The merchant was taken aback. "Christ's blood, that's one of the villages destroyed by King Alined's troops. I heard about it only hours ago. There were no survivors."

"No one" Armand said nervously "but me. My folks are dead. Help me, Christ will reward you."

"Leave him be, Marco" the woman yelled from her cart. "Who knows, he could be sick. We have our child and household to consider."

The merchant sighed, rolled his eyes. He took off his coat as well as a few coins from his purse. "Take it, old man, and don't think the worse of me for it. The Good Samaritan must have been a bachelor."

Armand stared after him and his companions when they travelled on.

So the Great Dragon's curse was coming true already, no decent folks would take him in.

He looked at the coins in his hand, and at the fine coat he'd been given. Worth a pretty sum. Enough to buy a place on a ship that left Albion's coast, if he could make it to the nearest harbour.

If Armand of Morgwyn had to live among villains from now on, it should be villains worth his while!


	19. Twilight of the Gods

**19 Twilight of the Gods**

"Take it away, Algernon" Morgause whispered as she fell back on her pillow. "I've seen more than enough."

Cautiously the Druid put the crystal orb with the image of the sleeping Armand fading inside it on the shelf of the High Priestess' private room. He had sensed her reaching out for her beloved one last time. But of course it would have been unbelievably rude for any magician to mention that he witnessed such a private moment.

"You're sure you do not want the crystal anymore?" Algernon asked Morgause softly. "Now that you've cast the spell of retreat, it will not show us the outer world much longer."

"I am sure" Morgause replied in a weak voice, but sternly. "I knew what price I would have to pay. We all did. The other Priests and Priestesses, you and your Elders. And Khilgarrah. To give your Druids and the peoples of Albion a chance for a normal, quiet life in a world without magic, we had to abandon it for good."

"That's not all the Council decided" Algernon replied drily. "It was wise to keep that little detail from the Great Dragon."

Morgause bit her lip and turned her face to the wall.

"It won't become easier by ignoring it, Most Revered Lady."

The High Priestess frowned irritably, but kept silent.

"The dragon may roam the wild parts of the Isle for a while, as his master does not call for him" the Druid insisted "but eventually Khilgarrah will come to see his Dragonlord."

"Why should he not see him?" Morgause asked. "By then... it will be done."

"The dragon will be furious. Emrys' pains are his as well."

Morgause smiled bitterly. "They can blame me all they want. The decision was mine to make and soon I will be beyond all punishment."

Algernon sighed heavily. "Neither of this does comfort me, My Lady. Besides, it's not true. You were forced into this decision by the others..." He took her hand and tried to bring some comforting warmth and joy into his face. He failed miserably, but Morgause didn't let him know.

"Yes, my own Priests _and_ your Elders urged me to do it!" she said. "But in the end, _I_ will perform the ritual. It will be their will, but my deed. I am the High Priestess until I die."

"Which is, unfortunately, an event soon to occur. You could just wait until it is too late. I doubt any of the others would be powerful enough to take on your sister."

"Not without the Druids' help, no" Morgause replied bewildered "as the dragon cannot be asked for support, not without Merlin's consent. But I thought you agreed."

"My Elders agreed, not I" Algernon said violently. "Had it been for me to decide, I would not have any part in this."

"Don't tempt me, my friend" she begged. "I've thought of nothing but postponement, every minute since the Council met. But it cannot be. Once Morgana came here, it was only a question of time until her secret was revealed."

"_You_ brought her here, My Lady."

"I never intended her to stay. Not until you came, with your great plan for peace in Albion by taking magic from the real world." Morgause left the rest of it unspoken. Alone, and discredited by her lack of insight into her Chosen Consort's true character, she had suffered a terrible defeat in the Isle's Council of Priests and Elders. Nobody had believed her when she'd claimed that Morgana and her child could be trusted to live peacefully on the Isle once all ways to the outer world were blocked.

Algernon, at her last words, shook his head. "We could have sent Emrys and Morgana to the outside world before we left it. Instead we made our decisions without them, sentencing them without even telling them why."

Morgause pulled her hand away. Some of the old fierce strength and stubborn defiance came back to her face. When she glared at him, the heat of her wrath radiated from her.

The Druid rose and retreated a few steps. She was dying, she was weak and all her dreams lay shattered, yet still, until her last breath, she was the Lady of the Isle.

"Both Merlin's and Morgana's magic is - different" the High Priestess hissed. "Nobody knew what the withdrawal of magic would do to them, had they been in the outside world. They could have died."

The Druid snorted. "Perhaps they would have preferred it that way."

"It wasn't right" Morgause objected. "Their role in the Great Mother's plan is too important. I told the Council what the crystal told me – they must be taken from this world but they must not die. Their fate is – suspended."

"They're not the only ones with a fate in a limbo" Algernon snarled softly. He gazed out of the window that overlooked a small forum in front of the inner temple.

People had already gathered. Officially, it was the traditional feast of the first full moon of autumn tonight.

Idiotic idea, come to think of it. From now on, presumably until the end of time itself, it would always be full moon over the Isle of the Blessed. This day, the day on which the Isle had left the real world, would endlessly repeat itself, the sun would rise in the morning, set in the evening, the moon would rise and set again. No seasons would come and go, the weather would never change.

Magic, the power that had left the real world to be concentrated on the Isle, would provide for all that was needed.

Algernon already dreaded the inevitable philosophical debate if eating food that had been mentally conjured up by magic could be called eating at all. What if someone tried to starve himself to death, only to find out that his hunger had been an illusion in the first place? That there was no real need to eat or drink or build or do anything anymore?

Oh, of course they could paint the green walls red and the red walls green for a change. They could destroy the houses; build new ones in their places. They could rewrite all 7.777 Sacred Texts of the Old Religion.

But then, nobody would care if they did not.

They could debate, though. On who was to be chosen as the head of this temple and who was right as the head of that temple. Very important in a community in which decisions, organisation, work and strife were superfluous.

Well, if they would not debate on politics they could always debate on philosophy or religion. For example, how the Christians were fool enough to believe God was male, while every sensible person in this world could clearly see that the invisible being had to be female. Oh, this was fascinating, at least a year, if not longer, they could split hairs about that one.

But, as no Christians were there to crush with smart and irrefutable argument, even this pleasure would grow stale in the end.

Undisturbed peace and quiet, quiet and peace, for the same five hundred and fifty eight people, Priests, Druids and other magicians, in a village outside time.

Algernon shuddered. He and the Druid Elders had bought their people's survival at the cost of a living death for themselves.

An eternity of getting up in the morning to do nothing that could not be done tomorrow, or next week, or not at all. Of going to bed in the evening, knowing that tomorrow would be like yesterday. They would live on in this confined space, day after day, night after night. Nobody would ever grow older.

No child would be born, nobody would die. So strong was the concentrated magic's protective power that it could not be broken by an accident or even by suicide but only by a sorcerer's premeditated act of murderous violence.

"You can't say I did not try to make amends for my mistakes" Morgause's voice interrupted the Druid's thoughts. "I did what I could to give Camelot a chance."

"True enough" Algernon replied, touched by the guilt that resounded in her words. By the desperate plea for forgiveness that underlined them. "I still say you had no right to enchant the scabbard and bind your own life force to Excalibur, Morgause. If Arthur knew, he'd never use sword or sheath again."

"So much the better that he doesn't know. A life for a life, if sword and scabbard are to protect him, they must feed on another life force, powerful enough to let the spell live. Would you rather I'd ordered one of my Priests to sacrifice himself to make Arthur invulnerable?"

"Yes" Algernon said. He saw her wince at that, and grinned mirthlessly. "For all the grudges I'm holding against you and your Blessed Isle, My Lady – as High Priestesses come, we could have done worse than choosing you for the job."

"_We_?" Morgause asked derisively. "Tread carefully, serf. The Druids' opinion wasn't asked when I was given the office."

"Nor did you consult us when you decided to die once Arthur's life had become dependent on the spell. To have your life transferred to Excalibur and the scabbard you made."

"I knew the risk. I thought, there might be no war, and the spell's protection would not be needed."

"Do not take me for a fool, Morgause. You knew you would die and you wanted to die!"

"Why would I want that?"

Algernon snorted. "I wasn't the first one who came up with the idea of taking magic from the world, thereby isolating the Isle of the Blessed from reality. It took me barely ten minutes to convince you. You must have pondered the concept for a long time before the idea even occurred to me."

"As you can see in my sister's fate, not all the consequences were clear to me" the High Priestess retorted. "However, it has nothing to do with my alleged death wish. I never lacked the necessary courage for my office."

"And here I was" Algernon replied acidly "thinking that it might have been a streak of humble human cowardice in your otherwise saintly character, oh most august Lady. You destroyed the bridges between Isle and reality; only you can rebuild them. If you had lived on with us, in this nightmare of perfect bliss and happiness – who knows, you might have thirsted for real life enough to countermand your spell one day. Now, with your life force being caged in the sword and scabbard, safely beyond our reach in the outside world, in the hands of a clueless Arthur, you are beyond this danger!"

"Not everyone would pity you and the others for immortality in a peaceful world."

"You sound very Christian for a High Priestess, Morgause. They always promised me a better world waiting for us all, just around the corner, if only I was willing to die for it. They too always said 'All hail' to those who are too lazy or too deeply hurt to _live_ for the mortal, imperfect world Mother Nature made her gift to us."

"Is that an insult, serf?"

"Just the moaning of an old man who finds it hard to live with the consequences of his own actions."

"If you ever become a Christian, Algernon, they should christen you 'Thomas'. For doubt should be your second name" Morgause scolded.

He bent his head in mock deference. "It's true, I cherish my doubts. Today I doubt you will go through with your plan in the end. It's not in you, to betray your own sister like that."

"Who are you, stranger? What have you done to Algernon, the Druid Chieftain who was the first to throw a verbal stone at my sister? Who first spoke of abomination, unnatural powers and such like?"

"Yes" Algernon admitted. "It's true. But now, that it is going to be a _real_ stone – would you believe me if I said that I regretted much of what I did or said in my life, but never more than I regret my self-righteous babbling about Morgana?"

The High Priestess raised a hand and let it fall to the blanket again. If she rejected or acknowledged Algernon's remorse, she did not say. "Did you do with Merlin and my sister as you've been ordered by the Council?" she asked.

"I did" the Druid confirmed grudgingly. "What I have given them should be enough to knock out a horse for a many hours."

"Let's hope it does" Morgause muttered. "I'm in no state to wrestle with them."

"Here they come" Algernon said tensely as he spotted the Council members gathering on the forum.

"Quick, help me up" Morgause gasped. Her hands shook when she tidied her official robes and she inhaled sharply when she stepped out of her room. Algernon had to support her on the stairs.

By rights, Arthur should have died during the last battle, many times. As he lived on, Excalibur and the scabbard sucked Morgause's life out of her. Once she had become one with blade and sheath, her life force and the spell it sustained would be the only piece of magic left in the outside world.

The High Priestess was fading quickly now. Algernon could sense her strength ebbing away as the spell she'd created did its work. Yet, when she left her own threshold, she looked as serene and composed as ever.

She nodded gravely at her fellow magicians when she joined them on the forum. Algernon scrutinized their faces. Guilt, embarrassment, the wish to get this over with – it was all there but even so, not one of them would listen to any pleas for mercy.

Algernon's heart ached and he felt sick. He was mortified. And yet he continued to do the will of his Elders and superiors, as he had done all his life, and rarely with less conviction.

Together they entered the sanctuary of the inner temple, a huge, dimly lit room in the centre of the building.

Around the massive altar, carved out of one piece of black marble, the Council gathered, the whole assembly of Priests and Druids, twice the dozen, as the ancient ritual demanded it.

On the altar two still figures, hand in hand, a man and a visibly pregnant woman; both sleeping.

"I'm sorry, Morgana" the High Priestess whispered. Her fingers brushed over her sister's hand. "Please, oh, please, forgive me."

Supported by the 24 other schooled magicians, Morgause performed the whole ritual that would lock Morgana, her unborn child and the warlock born of legends into the realms of dream, forever banished from the outside world as well as from the remaining world of magic, until the day the stars would fall from the sky or the Isle was to return to the outside world.

Algernon did not know whether to admire or loath Morgause for her composure.

When it was done the others sneaked out of the room like scolded kids. Finally, Morgause and Algernon were alone, but for the still figures on the altar.

The Druid thought he might say something. The woman in front of him was swaying on her feet, clearly exhausted. She was sick, she'd risen from her deathbed to do this to her sister and fellow magician.

But he kept quiet.

He wanted to pity Morgause and could not.

She pulled herself together and straightened her back before her eyes flashed golden one last time.

Algernon watched crystal walls building themselves all around Morgana's and Merlin's bodies with incredible speed, until they were completely encased by them. Their eyes were closed, their hearts were still, they did not breathe. And yet they looked behind the glass as if they were sleeping. Sleeping in a coffin made of diamond.

The Druid reached inside him, to the place where he had always found his link to Emrys. Where he could always feel him, rely on him.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Algernon thought of this morning, twelve hours ago. Merlin and Morgana, both unsuspecting, both trusting, unaware of any cause for sadness or danger. Morgause had managed to keep everything from them, the Isle's retreat from this world, Arthur's perils and most of all, their own fate. They had both relished in the thought that in a few days from now they'd go home to Camelot. Merlin had been optimistic, full of plans. He had talked and talked all morning about what he and Arthur would do to restore peace. Until the baby had begun kicking inside her mother, and both parents were absorbed into the life signs of their unborn daughter.

The Druid had had no difficulty at all lacing their wine with a sleeping draught.

"What have we done to them, Morgause? We promised them they would be safe with us. We gave them our _word_! When you persuaded them to stay with us much longer than they wanted, after my arrival, after you decided to not let them leave, you said it was for Morgana's safe pregnancy and deliverance of the child."

"They're not dead" Morgause repeated, like a mantra "they're just – sleeping. It was the only concession the Council was willing to make. You were there, you know I'm right."

"Where is the difference?" Algernon retorted. "Do you call that life?" and his outstretched arm pointed at the limp bodies. "We _did_ kill them. My peoples' saviour, foretold in legends older than time. And your own sister!"

"There was no other choice" the High Priestess said again. "We could not..."

Morgause stopped, touched her throat, stumbled. Her eyes widened.

Algernon was at her side with one stride, and yet he came too late. She fell to the ground, silently.

As the Druid turned her, her open eyes stared blindly at the glass coffin on the marble altar.

The Lady of the Isle was dead.

The compassion he'd been unable to feel earlier, suddenly it filled every fibre of Algernon's heart. He screamed his wrath and remorse at the walls, until his voice broke and he could scream no longer.

The uproar brought one of the Druid Elders back into the sanctuary. Ignoring Algernon's now openly flowing tears, he knelt down by Morgause's side, groaning as he did so, and felt for her pulse. "Dead" he stated superfluously. "Must have been quick, though. She did not suffer."

"No, you pompous asshole" Algernon said hoarsely. "But she did a lot of suffering before she died."

The Elder stared at him and what he saw made him flinch. "We'll have to choose a new head of the Isle by tomorrow" he said with feigned calm. "The ancient rules must be obeyed."

The elderly Druid gasped when Algernon grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet, choking him mercilessly. "You, old man, if you haven't done enough obedience to some stupid superstitious rules today, I can make up some rules of my own that you wouldn't like. It's not as if I had anything else to do."

"Let go of me" the old man demanded "I am your Elder and you have to..."

"Piss on your authority, as I should have done years ago" Algernon ranted. "Look at what you've brought about us all, you and your foolish prejudices."

Before the other could think of a fitting reply, more people rushed into the temple sanctuary, scared and horrified. "The dragon" one of them shrieked. "He's coming. He doesn't heed our orders."

Algernon grinned savagely when he looked at the Elder in his grip. "Looks as if we are going to meet the Great Mother tonight after all. What do you say to that, old man?"

Without waiting for an answer, the Druid pushed the Elder away from him. "Get out of here, inside the temple" he commanded the others. "_I_ will talk to Khilgarrah. Whoever wishes to can join me."

It was with grim amusement that Algernon saw his compatriots and the other magicians hastily retreat deeper into the building. These presumptuous fools had thought of everything but of the fact that the Great Dragons formed a magical power in their own right. The Isle's authority over them had been accepted out of insight and courtesy, not necessity.

If Khilgarrah decided to avenge his Dragonlord's ill fate on them all, nobody could hinder him.

All of a sudden, Algernon remembered the old King of Camelot.

Uther the King and Algernon the Druid Chieftain, both had been true believers all their lives, but only Uther _had_ been cut out for Holy Wars. Algernon preferred to avoid them, or prevent them, by foul means or fair.

Did that make him a true Druid or just a coward?

Was slaying Christians for their believes, misguided as they might sometimes seem to others, anything better than slaying innocent magicians for their powers, even if they had never used them for evil?

To Algernon, the answer to that question would always be 'no'. But as the Great Dragon always said "_the evil that comes from your doings, may they come from __hatred, may they come from love or pity, will always be a part of you_."

Khilgarrah would not forget, or forgive, what the others had done to his Dragonlord today. And, now that the Isle had left the real world, they were all trapped here, together, to all eternity.

Indeed, if Uther Pendragon had had the chance to create a special hell for sorcerers, he could not have come up with a place more suitable than the Isle of the Blessed was now.

With legs heavy as lead, the Druid walked out to face the enraged Great Dragon alone. "_If he dragon finishes me off, here and now_" Algernon thought "_I might still have t__he better of the bargain_."


	20. Broken Phoenix

**20 Broken Phoenix**

Fortunately or alas – this was a matter of perspective – Algernon had badly misjudged Khilgarrah's mood and intentions.

The Great Dragon landed, folded his wings and bent his head. "Is it done?" he simply asked.

The Druid was too astonished to answer at once. "Yes" he finally replied. "They're all gone, my friend. Your master, his beloved, their child. And the last of the High Priestesses. Whoever will take her place, they'll never fill her shoes.

"And yet they're already tearing Morgause's coat to pieces" Khilgarrah growled. "Who's to be the King in the realm of nothingness?"

"All hail to him or her" Algernon retorted drily, as he was regaining his usual derisive composure. "Why should we care about that, old friend?"

Although the Druid had thought that nothing in this world could ever terrify him after this dreadful day, he had been wrong. As Khilgarrah's huge head shot towards him, all teeth bared in a terrible snarl, Algernon stumbled backwards with an undignified yelp, lost his footing and fell, unceremoniously, on his backside with a thud.

"I. AM. NOT. YOUR. FRIEND" the Great Dragon gnarled, his hot breath reeking of sulphur. "Don't you _dare_ calling me such. I'm _not_ friend with cowards, or opportunists, or cynics who just stand by and let the others err."

"I wasn't aware that you knew what was about to happen to Merlin and Morgana" Algernon, piqued by the name-calling, shot back, somewhat braver than he felt. "Neither was I aware that you moved heaven and earth to prevent it. Imagine, I thought you meekly went to do My Lady's bidding, leaving Merlin to her mercy, same as me."

"I had no choice" Khilgarrah roared heatedly – literally so, as Algernon could see the fire building up deep in the mighty beast's throat. "She was the High Priestess!"

"YES SHE WAS" Algernon screamed, bristling enough with rage to almost make up for his lack of a dignified poise. "But she was wrong!"

"No, she was right" the dragon sighed. Suddenly he withdrew from the Druid, stretched his long neck and pressed his chin to the ground like a frightened kitten. "I've seen what she saw – the future is in turmoil. When Merlin took his destiny in his own hands, when he aligned himself to a Destroyer doomed to be the end of it all, when he bent the timelines to his will – they became …. upset. Destiny rejects his actions and yet he still is at its centre. Confusion, turmoil everywhere, there is no order, no calm, no reliability." More and more distraught, the dragon unfolded his wings and raised his front claws from the ground. "A new world is rising from the mists, but what it will be, no one can tell. If the warlock born of legends, and a Destroyer's child would meddle now – where would it end?" Khilgarrah now dug his four paws into the ground again. "I've seen Albion burn from one end to the other, I've seen fire rain from heaven. And yet there is peace somewhere in between, if only one could find it. Arthur's face haunts my visions, it follows me, into my dreams, and yet I can't sleep. I cannot sleep, Algernon…."

"You're babbling, my poor friend" the Druid said softly. "Forgive me. Please forgive me for thinking you, of all creatures, were unable to feel despair." Soothingly he laid his hand on the dragon's head, just as Merlin had once done, to – unbelievably as it was – scratch the mighty dragon between the ears until he purred.

Khilgarrah shoved the human away, if gently. "They aren't dead" he said with sudden defiance. "Fate will decide, and they will be given back to us, one way or the other. They're creatures of magic, and magic cannot die."

"Where is your kind, Khilgarrah?" asked Algernon. "If they're not dead, where are they?"

"Magic will return the day Merlin rises" the dragon retorted with the stubbornness typical for wishful thinking. "The warlock born of legends cannot have lived in vain."

"So all we have to do is wait!" Algernon stated ironically. "No problem at all, as we've got all the time in the world. Indeed, we have eternity at our disposal."

Khilgarrah huffed. "Your curse, not mine." With these words, he turned away from the surprised Druid and entered the temple.

Algernon found he couldn't stomach the sight of Merlin and Morgana, not with a confused, grieving dragon by his side who spoke in riddles. Not even to himself the Druid admitted that it was Morgause's dead face he couldn't stand the sight of, not now, not ever.

From the temple's inside came terrified screams, people ran from the building and scattered all over the site in panic. Algernon heard a roar, than the raging of flames from the structure, and he closed his eyes.

He should have known it was the only befitting funeral for the last of the High Priestesses, to be consumed by the flames of the last of the Great Dragons.

Algernon waited for Khilgarrah's return for a long, long time. Where the others had gone to, what they were doing – he couldn't care less.

But the Great Dragon did not return.

Finally, after many an hour, Algernon gathered his last remaining courage and went into the temple.

He found Khilgarrah, his head resting on the glass coffin that contained all that still was meaningful to him, and his eyes were closed. He wasn't breathing; at least Algernon could not detect any breath left in the beast. The body felt cold to the touch, hard and cold as stone.

"You said you needed sleep, so you joined them in their slumber" the Druid muttered, stroking Khilgarrah's brow. "How very selfish of you. You left me behind, you egoist."

With a last pat on the mighty head, Algernon sighed, and left, sure that no one would ever dare to enter this building again, until the end of all days. If there still was such a thing.

Outside, he stretched his weary muscles and bones.

"What a day" he said aloud. "What a blessing, tomorrow will be so very peaceful. And next week. Or next year."

But behind his cheerful façade, Algernon mourned all he had lost, friends, a world, a life…. a Queen. "_Arthur_" he thought. "_It is up to you now." _

The thought accompanied him to his bed and during a sleepless night, doubtlessly the first of many yet to come. "_I beg of you, my King, it can't have been for nothing."_

And as he carried on existing, as nobody had the mercy to kill him, this thought was the only thing between the Druid and insanity.

Perhaps Algernon would have wished and hoped less fiercely had he known what a burden his own life was to Arthur.

Margaly had been laid to rest with all the honours and the morbid pomp a Pendragon Crown Princess was entitled to. Among the ashes and ruins of Camelot, squeezed into the never ending procession of corpses being brought to the graveyard, the procedure had been a ghostly vision, a nightmare more than a ceremony.

Hardly had the guests ever looked at the small coffin of Arthur's child. It had been the father, not the dead daughter, people had stared at.

The Kingdom was in shambles and they wanted somebody who told them what to do and that all would be well in the end.

And the story of Arthur's wondrous appearance at the height of battle, in the night of all nights, how he had talked to the Great Dragon and how the beast had surrendered to him grew and grew, into the realms of the utterly impossible, and far beyond.

Indeed, those people loved their King, with the cruel passion of egomaniacs, selfish, demanding, reckless and inconsiderate.

Their golden hero, their phoenix from the ashes, he would move his hand and all would be well. Nobility or commoner, rich merchant and poor labourer, they all tried to survive as best they could.

They all waited.

Nobody even imagined the possibility of King Arthur Pendragon having not more of an idea how to go on from here than the next farm serf had.

For all his proud and gallant speeches he had made to Gwaine, about work, and serving the people, and a lot of other things, the King withdrew from his people, with only wish in his heart – that they should all go and rot and finally – _finally_ – leave him in peace.

Superfluous to say that the King of Camelot could have his every whim, his every wish fulfilled in an instant, but not that one.

Three days was all Arthur had to gather his wits, to bury his daughter in his heart as he had buried her beneath the ground, before Gwaine, Leon and Gaius forced their way into his quarters, with Alice and Hunith in their wake.

It was the most unlikely bunch of people possible to berate a King, and yet there was nobody else.

"We did what we could, Sire" Leon stated bluntly. "The nobles are getting restless, and tired of taking orders from a bunch of knights. It's your word or rebellion. We're short of food, of shelter, of everything."

"Let the Branguards sort it out" Arthur snapped. "And where is My Lord the Duke of Cornwall? If he was strong enough to bed another man's woman, he can also rule another man's Kingdom, at least for a while!"

"We've had news, Sire" Gwaine said most reluctantly. "Tristan is dead. He fell in the very first skirmish of this war. Iseult took her own life when she could not avoid capture by her first husband's men."

"Heavens above" Arthur murmured. "If there is any justice left in this world, Duke Marke will not have a single peaceful moment in his life."

"Duke Marke is not the issue here" Gaius interjected. "He has become an old, tattering fool overnight, you cannot count on him. You distinguished the Branguards above all others, envy brought them hatred, not respect. They were heeded when there was no other choice, but now it is _you_ we need, Sire. So far, nobody doubts your crown."

"Is that so?" Arthur asked back. "Then what are you doing here, in my quarters, without my invitation? Get out, the lot of you. Gaius, Hunith, you stay!"

Leon rolled his eyes, Gwaine was about to protest, but a punitive stare from Alice convinced them that they could do no good at present. Their anger showed, though, when they shuffled out of the room, and Gwaine closed the door with a bang.

Alice just hid behind her husband as best she could and ignored the King's order. By no way she would leave Gaius now, not as long as Arthur had not even heard the worst.

Gaius braced himself silently for what he knew must come now and, as he had thought, it came.

"Where is he, Gaius?" Arthur asked. "And my sister? Why weren't they here when it really counted, when Camelot needed them most?" He didn't say what anyone present knew he was thinking: "_When __**I **__needed them most_?"

"If they're dead or alive, it doesn't matter, they're lost to us" Gaius said, and his grief didn't show; neither in his voice nor in his face. "Magic has left this world, the Isle is no more. The Old Religion is dead."

Arthur stared at him, awestricken. "Have you taken leave of your senses, old man?"

"I've been in contact with magic all my life, Sire. It is a part of me, not as much as with Merlin, but I know when it is gone. There is a way…. a spell, if you want to call it that, by which the Isle of the Blessed can take magic away from this world forever." Gaius inhaled deeply before he continued "Morgause or whoever did this has chosen our fate. Your father's war has been won without him. Camelot, and later on all Albion, will become a Christian realm."

"Leave the Kingdom's fate to me, Gaius. I asked you about Merlin's!"

Gaius was ready to answer but Hunith spoke first. "I'm not a magician myself, Your Majesty" she said gently. "But I know my son. I can feel it, too. Things have changed. Merlin can no longer be in this world."

Arthur looked at her strained face and knew it was true. The heart breaking knowledge that she would never find her child again changed her, as it had already changed him.

Merlin and Morgana would never return.

He was alone.

But then a sudden spark of hope made Arthur jump. "The Druids…."

"They're gone, Sire. Since the day after the battle, not a single Druid could be found in all of Camelot. Algernon, the Elders … vanished, their villages are abandoned, as are their shrines."

"Where have they gone? And why? I wouldn't blame them!"

"They've followed the Isle, for all their fine talks of independence, they've always done that. Those who stayed in our world are ordinary people now, their powers gone, their meaning in life, to protect the Old Religion, is gone too." Gaius chuckled bitterly. "Your father would be pleased."

Arthur winced. "So it has all come to nothing" he said, more to himself than to the others. "Uther won, I lost and there's an end to it."

For once Gaius, always the sage, always the know-all, had no idea what to say, no advice to give, no comfort to spent, as he was in dire need of all these fine things himself, but nobody in reach to hand them out to him. He had a terrible, final feeling that all had been said, and that nothing was left to discuss. Merlin was dead, and so was Camelot, so was Albion and so were all their dreams.

The old healer bowed to his King's back, took his wife's reluctant hand, and made haste to get out as if all seven hells were after them.

Arthur heard them leave and thought he was alone.

He took the nearest chair and slumped down on it, his head in his hands. Gods, what he would give if some supernatural power came down from heaven and wiped it all away, all the greed, the stupidity, all the wrong twists and turns fate had taken since the day his father had decided that he must have a son at any price.

"It is still worthwhile, Arthur" Hunith said when she took his hand, startling him off his dreary thoughts. "What you have been to my son, nobody else could have been. You, and you alone, have given his life a purpose. Don't let him down."

"He's dead and I'm alone" Arthur shot back, and his free hand flew to the hilt of his dagger. As if she was the enemy he was looking for, the one he could strike down, in place of all the others that were out of reach.

For as long as a breath, temptation was almost irresistible. To take the weapon, to do as he pleased, as he was a King, and could do what he wanted, no one could stop him.

In this very moment, Uther was with his son, his voice was droning in Arthur's ears. The power over another's life or death filled Arthur's veins and head like strong wine, gave strength where weakness had humiliated him, an illusion of power and surety where disorientation had been, and shaking grounds.

Slay a serf, who dares asking you why? Pass the threshold, and leave the pain behind, where you are going, neither conscience nor regret will ever trouble you again.

The dangerous moment came – and it passed, unused.

Arthur would never knew, why he had not done it. And Hunith would never tell anyone how close she had come to death. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in the muscles of his hand and arm. The itch to strike, and strike again, until his hurt would dissolve in hers.

"No" she just said. "There is Galahad. And …. somebody else, if only you would allow her back into your heart."

"I granted her a chance for peace and for all I know, she's found it. I will not take that away from her." His answer was quick, and smooth, liked learned by heart but never meant.

"She was Margaly's mother, how can she be at peace, unless she's with you and her son?"

"For the Gods' sake, woman, as much as for your own, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Arthur bent his neck with relief when he heard the door clap.

Thank heaven.

At the touch of two soft hands on his shoulders, he roared with wrath and darted to his feet. "I swear I'll…."

He stopped in midsentence when he recognized her face.

"Let me stay, Arthur" Guinivere said, her voice a throaty, hoarse whisper. "Let me stay and I swear I'll never leave you again, not ever."

A hundred and a thousand possible things shot through Arthur's head at once, of what to say to her, and how, or what to do now.

"Our little girl" was all he really said. "Our little Margaly."

Three months later, the people of Camelot were glad, for no reason at all in all their ongoing misery and troubles they were _hilariously_ glad, to hear that Her Highness the King's wife was once again with child.

Minnie and her husband, still recovering from their own ordeal, still marvelling at the King's order for their release the moment the Princess Margaly had been laid to rest, shouted louder than anyone.

In the happy hurly-burly of an impromptu party in every place where the rubble permitted nobody heeded the announcement that the Healers' Seminar, which had been about to be closed, would be kept open. For the time being. Just in case of an emergency.

Nobody but Alice knew that Gaius had locked himself up in his room and cried his heart out.


	21. A Life's Work

**21 A Life's Work**

Guinivere, Queen of Camelot, adorned with all the jewels the Pendragon treasury could provide, stood at her open window and looked at town and castle spread out below, like a picture in the bright and glowing sunlight.

The crowd down there was merry, joyful, and expectant of great things to come.

The Queen watched the hustle and buzzle of the town's people in the street, and of their high and mighty guests. So many unknown faces there. So many familiar faces absent.

"_Yes, Merlin_" the woman who had once been Gwen, a blacksmith's daughter, thought. "_Look at __us__.__ Arthur is King, I am his Queen and this is the __New Camelot__.__B__igger, stronger, more power- and more __beautiful than it __has ever __been__ before_."

Suddenly she smirked, as if he who wasn't there had heatedly but foolishly objected.

"_You do not__ like it__, Merlin__?__Is it not __your__ life's dream fulfilled__? __Rather __your worst__ nightmare__! __Your mother __thought the same__.__ Hunith __left Albion __for good__, s__he __said she __couldn't breathe__ here._

_Who is to blame her? Once there was no place for a Dragonlord's Lady in Camelot. Today, there's no room for a sorcerer's mother._

_Collateral damage of our brave new times. __Alined is dead, so is Bayard. Their heirs are clever men, they sail with the tide, and __in Albion all __tides run __up __to Camelot_."

"A hundred towers_._" When foreigners came and gawked at the wonders around them, peasants boasted, and rich men did alike. "A hundred towers with golden roofs, our castle. Our Camelot."

"_Marvel__, Merlin, marvel__ at __the Pendragon power, unrivalled, unchallenged – the power of the Once and Future King and __his Knights of the Round Table_."

Guinivere grabbed the windowsill, with both hands, and her knuckles stood out white. "_It's only one small flaw in it all, Merlin. T__his same King's Queen __is__ thinking of how __lovely it must be__,__ to end one's life on the cobblestones__.__N__o worries, no duties, no self-reproach__, just a__ quick fall, a brief pain_. _Funny, once I hated Arthur __because he longed for that_."

"It is time, My Lady" the young woman behind her said.

Like all the other Courtiers, the girl was flushed with excitement, her pretty cheeks rosy; her breath coming fast and upset. In her best dress, as lovely as a spring morning, the young gentlewoman was beyond the moon with the honour to carry Her Majesty's train today, as one of six girls, chosen from the highest families of Albion. "His Eminence is waiting in the cathedral." She giggled nervously and the fine golden crucifix on her creamy throat trembled.

Everybody knew Bishop Severinus' impatience. His Eminence was an imposing figure these days, and so very full of his own importance that nobody would have recognized the awkward, slouching monk from long ago.

The Queen turned away from the window and her usual regal mask slipped back in place.

Dispassionate, uncaring, Guinivere sized herself up in the precious mirror in front of her.

It was true. She still outshone each and every Lady of her Court, young girl or grown up woman, without much effort.

The Dark Rose of Camelot. The Lady with the fiery eyes. With hair of ebony, with eyes of amber, with skin of honey, who could be fairer?

At every feast, at every state occasion, the bards' and minstrels' praises of her beauty knew no bound.

"_One eulogy for every bow lute in the land_" Gwaine had once joked. Before he had left them, and his wife and child, never to return.

Each and every time her husband looked at her Guinivere saw how much the King of Camelot adored her.

Unlucky him, that he should do so.

Unlucky her, that it still warmed her heart so much.

Her Golden Prince.

Arthur who had once talked of eloping with her, buying a farm, living simple. "_I think I'll take Merlin, for the hard work_." That lazy smile, the sky blue eyes…..the blood had rushed to a place between her legs back then. The way it still did, every time she saw him. The way it would always do.

If they _had_ escaped Camelot back then, how would their life have been then? The three of them, and nothing else, no Kings, no Queens, no Old or New Religions.

No friends who got lost one way or the other.

"_Gaius is dead, Merlin_" the Queen said in her mind. "_He and Alice, in the same month. A simple flue, but he had aged so much. I guess she could not live without him_."

Out of the blue Guinivere remembered Severinus' unendurable, droning voice. Like the unnerving sound of an ugly insect in her bedchambers. "_Woman, be thou __modest, and humble before God, that no sin of vanity may come to you__. For __in all your female frailty __the Lord has exalted you to High Office, but __uneasy rests the head that wears the …._."

And so on, and so on, and so on.

"His Eminence will have to wait" the Queen decided. "Tell the King that I'm to meet with him in the vaults, at our daughter's grave."

"But Your Majesty, you've already said your prayers, and …."

"Christ's blood, are you _deaf_, girl?"

The girl pressed her handkerchief to her eye and rushed out.

Guinivere shrugged dismissively.

Had she been as childish at that age? Cried because of a harsh word, a fierce look? No, surely not. Between stoking fires at daybreak and hemming fine Ladies' dresses until midnight, she had had no time for such nonsense.

With an impatient move, the Queen threw her prayer book and little bag on her dressing table and swept from her room, her brocade skirts and silken veils dancing around her.

Outside her brother was startled by her sudden appearance. He stumbled, and steadied himself by grabbing the nearest tapestry. He almost ripped it down.

"Kindly spare my furnishings, Elyan" Guinivere sneered. "Why aren't you at the cathedral?"

"I'm the one to accompany you" he said angrily. "Or have you forgotten? Where are you going?"

"I am to meet with my husband, on matters of state. It doesn't concern you."

"Matters of state? Now? Gwen, the only matter of state is waiting in the cathedral, thoroughly pissed by now I shouldn't wonder. Hurry up, sister."

"Sir Knight, you are relieved of your duties for today. Get out of my way!"

"Hooo, hold your horses, my girl, I am your brother…."

"I am your _Queen_, and if have to remind you again, you will have reason to regret it!"

Elyan bowed deeply, the mockery of a respectful kowtow, and stepped aside. "_Women_!" he thought resignedly. Devil might understand them, he sure didn't. Nor did Leon, to his certain knowledge, and he had been married all these years, and had children and all.

Guinivere strode to the vaults so quickly and decidedly that nobody dared to stop her.

When Arthur finally joined her, she had been waiting for some time. But she wasn't bored. The thought of the pompous Severinus swaying from the shock of abuse, waiting uselessly in front of the gold covered altar, was very entertaining.

"What is it, my love?" Arthur asked, taking her shoulders from behind and kissing her neck. "Still the jitters, after all these years?"

"11 years, to be exact" she retorted. "And five pregnancies. Look at our little darlings, my husband, aren't they adorable?"

Against his will, Arthur's gaze flew to the five small white stone coffins behind the bigger one of his firstborn daughter. As always, the sight made him shudder.

"You should not have come here, Guinivere" he muttered, squeezing her shoulders. "Not today."

"Why not? His Eminence will not look for us here. Margaly had not been christened and Gaius and Alice were never properly married. Severinus was happy my still born little monsters were buried here, side by side with all the other abominable left-overs from an evil past!"

"They weren't monsters, they were just dead. It wasn't your fault, Guinivere."

"They _were_ monsters. Our little boy, the last one in the row, don't you remember him? He had the head of an ox, with your eyes in it!"

"Gwen, you carried him for only six months, how could he have looked like an ordinary baby? And nobody ever saw his eyes….."

"Gaius did. He told me."

"He did no such thing. He did what he could to help us. Without magic…."

"Ha" Guinivere laughed out "_Without _magic? Do you think I do not hear them whisper behind my back? I'm a witch, dear husband, I bewitched my own children, so that they would die, isn't that how the story goes? So that Galahad, the changeling, my lover's bastard, could take the Crown of Camelot!"

Arthur's throat was tight when he answered. "Nobody says that. Lancelot has been at Court many times, with his wife when she lived, and without her now she's gone. There was no breath of scandal."

"Not onstage, no, you made sure of that. You're a good politician, Arthur. Morgana would be proud. Clever, smart and with a first class instinct, as long as it doesn't come to me."

Arthur let go of her and stepped back, clearly irritated. "You are my wife, my Queen, together we've raised Camelot from the ashes. Our villages and towns prosper, our merchants trade in goods from Alexandria, our people are content, our neighbours seek our advice. We've been at peace for a decade, there is not a noble family in the land who does not think it an honour to have a son among the Knights of Camelot and a daughter among your Ladies-in-Waiting. Is that something to be sneezed at?"

"We've got our Golden Age after all, didn't we. We sacrificed your sister and brother-in-law so that the Gods would propitiate us."

Arthur swallowed painfully and tried, with all his strength, to ignore the cruel accusation that cut him like a knife. A quick glance over her shoulder, and she saw the pain in his face, just as he tried to strike a lighter note. "Not a very seemly thought for a Christian Queen."

"Our Christianity is a paper-moon, it distorts the light that shines through it and hides the greedy flame from sight."

"That applies to me" Arthur readily admitted. "My prayers in Church are lip-service. I speak to my Gods in the forest if I want to. But you, my love…" Cautiously, as if she was to bite him, he embraced her again "you found your peace in a Christian abbey once. You gave our son to the monks to be educated as a Christian King. Are you telling me that this is all a lie?"

Gwen rubbed her brow and eyes with one hand, trembling a bit. "Oh I don't know" she said. "Perhaps I should have stayed in that convent and left you free to do as you pleased."

"It pleased me to have you back. You've made me idiotically happy, every day of my life since then. Together we've achieved so much….

"You cannot take the High King's Crown" Guinivere interrupted him icily, as she turned to face him. She stood erect once again, her skin greyish, but her gaze was steady.

"We have a bunch of Kings and Barons waiting who dare to differ, my love" Arthur chuckled. It sounded somewhat hollow, and he coughed lightly before he went on "it took us both a lifetime to come that far. I've been looking forward to walking down that isle with you again, seeing you crowned by my side. I beg you Guinivere. Do not abandon me now."

"I'm telling you, you cannot take the High King's Crown."

"I've been offered the office by the other Kings and Queens, by all the nobles of the realm, and by the Church. How could I refuse it? Shall I tell them my wife has had a bad dream, so would you please take your luggage and piss off? We'd have a war at our hands faster than we could say we're sorry."

"You do not have an heir. I've not given you one."

"Galahad…."

"Is a dimwit and a cripple!"

"His hearing has improved over the years" Arthur said with increasing anxiety "he learned to talk, to read and write ..…"

"Can he wield a sword, can he fight a battle? My son is a fake, as much as his mother!"

"Gwen, sweetheart, please….."

"You have a handmaiden for a wife and a cripple for a son, you must tell them, Arthur, you cannot take that Crown as long as you're married to me."

"But I _am_ married to you, twice over, in the woods by Morgause, and in Church by the Bishop, would you please stop your hysterics, woman, _NOW_!"

Guinivere stepped away from him, but not too far. She laid her left hand on Margaly's coffin. "As God is my witness, Arthur Pendragon, I'm not your wife before God. I married you under false pretences, I never loved you. I will scream it out to anyone, I'm an adulteress and my son is a bastard."

"Why are you doing this to me, Gwen? You promised me you'd never leave me again, to stay by my side in good days or bad, you gave me your word, over and over again. Why now, my love? _Why_?"

Her lips were so pale they were hardly visible and underneath her dark honey skin, all colour had gone from her face. "You've earned this Crown, Arthur. It is your birth-right. Your mother died for it. All the people Uther murdered in his mad revenge died for it. Your sister, and Merlin. He above all. They gave their lives so that you might reunite Albion. They scream at me at night, Arthur. They ask me again and again, what good have I brought to you?"

"My peace of mind when I thought I'd lost it forever. Is that so little? Is my love and affection so unimportant that you can spit on it?"

She raised her chin as she replied "Galahad will be twelve years old come august. You cannot longer postpone his training as a squire. By rights, he should have his accolade long before he is twenty. Our game of hide-and-seek is over, husband."

"I could easily adopt an heir from one of the noble families. I've figured it all out, my love, no need to worry…."

"STOP treating me as a child, Arthur! The rulers of Albion bow their heads to you, but their teeth are gritted. You're in your thirties, you're healthy and strong, you can father and raise another son, but without one, no power in this universe will prevent civil war! You adopt the son of one family and make enemies of all the others."

Gwen knew that she had won when Arthur kept silent, and briefly, the pain was so intense, it almost knocked her off her feet. So far he had been adamant. From here on he would be only quarrelsome. Everybody in Camelot knew the difference.

"I tell you what" she said, fighting to stay calm and detached. "I've discussed it all with Malcolm Branguard …"

The gruesome shock gave Arthur back his voice. "You did _what_?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Arthur, Malcolm is smart, and he's got eyes. I did not surprise him."

"You told my chancellor and first advisor that our son is a _bastard_?"

"No" Gwen said, lightly swaying on her feet. Cold sweat ran down her spine under all her fineries, and she was nauseous from sheer exhaustion. "I've told him all about Galahad's health and that I will not have another child. Malcolm was very understanding. A few months after today's coronation, I will say that I crave a life in a nunnery, for the sake of my dead children's immortal souls. A marriage to God dissolves our wedding vows. A year and a day later, you can remarry. It is as easy as that, and nobody will be the wiser."

"The two of you made up this pretty plan behind my back and never even thought of consulting me?"

"You would have refused Arthur, I knew that."

"What if I refuse now? What if I say I will not have it, you sentencing yourself to a life of incarceration, me and some hapless woman with a functioning womb to a mock marriage?"

"As I said, My Lord and Liege. Refuse me and I'll scream your disgrace from all the roof tops in Albion. The nobles who've made you their High King will take care of your marriage from there, have no doubt. They lose their faces when you lose yours."

"What about Galahad?"

"Go along with my plan and he will be your son under every law of the land. He's happy in his abbey; he's a little scholar already. Grant him the privilege you and Morgana never had, a life of his own choosing."

"Perhaps you would never see him again."

"I know that."

Arthur shook his head in awe. "I'll ask you again. _Why,_ Guinivere? No politics this time, no ghosts. _Why_ are you doing this?"

"I've brought Camelot little good. I do not wish to bring her harm. Doubtlessly I'm not the first Queen who knows these words, and doubtlessly there will be others after me who think their hands are bloodied enough!"

"Nobody accuses you of anything. I've never heard anyone calling you a witch, but I've heard countless people calling you a saint. People love you."

"The people, yes. The Court does not."

"The Court loves no man. They love themselves too much."

"Your father's words. Uther knew the men his power depended on. I know them, too. You were their Prince, you are their King, a true Pendragon. I had to prove my worth. I'm no Pendragon, so I had to _produce_ one. I had to give you a healthy child. But I did not."

"I still think you're making too much of it…."

"No, you do not. If you did, you had laughed it all away. You'd taken me into your arms and called me a worrier, and a Cassandra. You only argue with me when you know I'm right."

"You know me too well, My Lady."

"How could I not? I am your wife, until I leave you."

"Don't" he said and when he looked into her eyes, she knew she was seeing into his heart. "Stay with me, Guinivere."

She wanted to avoid his gaze, had to avoid it at any costs, even if it meant to hurt them both further. She hugged him as if she never would let go. "I _will_ be with you" she said. "Tonight, and all the nights which are left to us. Until I go."

"A fool's paradise, again" he retorted with bitterness, his head on hers.

"But still a paradise. You will not spoil it for me, will you? I beg you Arthur, do not spoil this for me."

As always, he could not refuse her. He nodded, once, but it was enough.

"Let's go" she said, retreating from him. He did not stop her. "We have a coronation waiting. Your Majesty King Arthur Pendragon is to become High King of Albion."

"And Guinivere his Queen!"

"For a while!"

"Yes. For a while!"

This night, after the coronation, the feast, the endless speeches, the toasts, the false smiles and the real ones, he did not come to her.

Nor did he come as time went by.

Guinivere was grateful to him.

It was his way of saying that he had understood.


	22. Expatriates

**22 Expatriates**

Angus fidgeted.

He did not like it.

He did not like it _one_ bit.

First Uther, now Arthur – who had decreed that to bring a wayward Pendragon into exile was an inbred duty of the Branguard family?

Angus felt so very awkward, really, it was _too_ embarrassing.

Next time, if Arthur should find some more family members to get rid of, Angus would _categorically_ refuse.

He would.

Arthur had made the Branguard brothers hereditary Dukes of Cornwall on Duke Marke's demise, so one should _think_ the King would show them some respect!

Honestly, King or no King, Angus _would _refuse.

He really would.

But then, as Arthur had hardly any family left, perhaps there was no need to…..

He absolutely _had_ to talk it through with Malcolm. Perhaps Malcolm would tell the King that Angus refused? Yes, that was better, Malcolm was so good with words ….

Thank Gods…. no, thank Go_**d**_, of course - damn, he _had_ to remember that, it was as important as it was idiotic, and that was embarrassing, too – his younger brother appeared on the top stair of the castle, kindly lending the Lady his hand for support.

Dear Malcolm. Always kind, always the gentleman. And so clever. Naturally, as the elder brother Angus was his superior in all things, but that did not mean he could not appreciate his baby brother's qualities, did it?

"Here, let me help you" Angus said as soon as Malcolm had done everything that needed doing, and, as usual, Malcolm thanked his brother most kindly for the superfluous offer.

"My Lord, would you want to keep me company?" Guinivere asked Malcolm from the coach's inside, and thereby she made both Branguard brothers very happy, the younger because he got rid of his brother, the elder because he got rid of her.

Angus found his ride through the clear, cold winter air most refreshing, as did Malcolm when it came to the prospect of some clear minded conversation.

Unlike his elder brother, Malcolm could handle sensitive and awkward, but not stupid.

For Angus, it was just the other way round.

"The King asked me to give you his regards, My Lady" Malcolm told Guinivere when they were safely under way. "He trusts that you would prefer a quiet departure. He'll meet you in your new home in a week's time, to make sure that you are comfortable."

Guinivere winced in uncomfortable surprise. "Is that wise?" she asked alarmed. She coughed immediately. "I mean, with a train, half a mile long, full of the best Camelot can offer, how could anyone be uncomfortable? The Abbess will think I'll join her order with a trousseau, like a blushing bride."

And right enough, she _did_ blush like a childish girl, because Malcolm smiled, in a most understanding, very comforting way.

There never was any fooling the man. He knew she had been talking of temptation, if it should happen in a nunnery or in a cottage made no difference.

"Usually I would not dream of breaking the King's trust" Malcolm said. "But under the circumstances….. Let's be frank with each other, Guinivere, while we still can. Arthur does not accept this separation, not as a fact in real life I mean. As far as he is concerned, this is a charade, for the sake of the realm, nothing more. As a King he will choose a new Queen when the day comes, as a man, he considers you his lawful wife, and that will not change until the day he dies."

"But that is …. impossible, the Abbess….. the Bishop …. I am going to a convent…under the pretence of wishing for a religious life in solitude…."

"Forgive me, My Lady, but to Arthur the word convent has as much meaning now as the word mésalliance had when he first courted you. The King regards the place as something of a holiday resort for Ladies. He said so to the Abbess, and was most astonished when the worthy Lady faked a fainting fit."

Gwen chuckled, covered her mouth with her hand, looked at Malcolm who for once had trouble keeping his features straight, and finally she laughed out loud. "Oh my God, he did not, not really, did he? Tell the Abbess that he will come to sleep with me, in her convent, even after he has been remarried? Oh my God, no!"

"He did, I was present. I had the time of my life, I assure you. I knew he never listened to Severinus' boring ramblings, but that Arthur should have completely and totally ignored every single word any priest has ever said to him, that was news to me. Heavens, it was a pity you could not be there, I've often thought that Arthur is adorable, but never as much as I did then."

"But the Bishop…."

"That's exactly what the Abbess said as soon as she had sufficiently recovered. Or perhaps I should say, she shrieked it. '_Your Majesty __is __forget__ting__ His Eminence_' she squealed, like those cute little piglets that undoubtedly fill some of my many stables '_t__he holy Bishop will never allow such __atrocities_.'Arthur shrugged and said '_If you don't tell him, I won't. __I'm offering you __12__.__000 __silver__ coins __worth of __revenue __for __your convent, in addition to the __annual stipend __My Lady Guinivere will __have __at her disposal for her wellbeing and __comfort.__'_" Malcolm grinned devilish when he said the last bit.

"What did the Abbess do?" Gwen asked breathlessly.

"Faint. This time for real. Took the King and me ten minutes to revive her."

"It is a King's ransom" Gwen panted as soon as she had come out of another laughing fit. "An outrageous sum of money for an outrageous demand."

"My Lady Abbess is a true Christian" Malcolm drawled. "I certainly do not know anyone who's more dedicated to true Christian charity. But she's got so many responsibilities. It's just her bad luck that, while Jesus fed the many with so little, her honest faith does buy her neither bread nor herrings."

"I do not follow you" Guinivere said, frowning.

"Our's is a cruel world" Malcolm replied, without humour or sarcasm this time. "One has to consider that the Abbess comes from an old and distinguished but sadly impoverished family. She has the care of six unmarried younger sisters who have no dowry. Many a young girl presently getting an education at the convent's expense shares that fate. My Lady Abbess can be a parsimonious old hag at times, but she has a good heart, and many good people depend on it. The King could spend his money on less deserving purposes. He chose well, in my opinion, very well."

"_Arthur_ chose?" Gwen asked with some mild irony.

"Forgive me, My Lady, a slip of the tongue. As the King's most humble servant, I took the liberty of keeping His Majesty informed on the kind of company _you_ had chosen for yourself!"

Gwen hiccupped. "And Severinus?" she then asked.

"All he ever offered to the Lady Abbess in her plight was a word of advice: That women should accept their fate in modesty and humility, so that no sin of vanity…"

"…. should ever come to them" Gwen said in chorus with her counterpart "I know, I remember His Eminence's favourite sermon only too well."

Suddenly she winced, smoothed a non-existing wrinkle in her dress with her hand and looked out of the window, at the wintry landscape covered in snow and ice.

"My Lady should not trouble herself with such dark thoughts" Malcolm said after a moment of silence. "There is no reason to pity your successor to the Queen Consort's Crown, I've taken care of that."

Gwen stared at him with wide eyes. "Gaius was sure that all magic had been taken from our world. And now you are reading my thoughts My Lord?"

"No magic needed, you are, if you pardon me, a bit transparent at times. You and Arthur have a lot in common when it comes to unnecessary self-reproach. Your thoughts and guilty conscience were written all over your face."

"Were they? So, if you are that very wise, Malcolm Branguard, what _was_ I thinking about the next Queen of Camelot?"

"That she is to be pitied. Which she is not. If she were, I'd never given the plan my blessing. I'm obliged to the Lady, much obliged."

"You're making me curious My Lord. Who is that wonder-woman?"

"My unfortunate wife!"

Malcolm said it with a serene smile, his hands folded contentedly over his belly, which with the years had grown together with his wealth and influence. As had his chin, that wobbled comfortably above his diamond-crested collar. He was as calm as you please.

Guinivere, however, was rendered speechless.

"You see, there will be no such thing as 'a year and a day'" Malcolm explained patiently. "Arthur is going to marry the Lady Gwendolyn the moment our divorce is legally valid."

As Guinivere was still dumbfounded, he went on "Becoming a Christian wasn't easy for me. Alas, with the Old Religion no longer a player in the game - No crucifix, no Cornwall. Now there's Angus, poor man, with his terrible fright of hellfire and eternal damnation, he hardly ever gives me some peace. '_What if there is some__ truth in it__, purgatory and what not, Malcolm_' he says, and why shouldn't he? He is what he is, but he loves me as a brother should. However, neither celibacy nor monogamy do appeal to me, never did."

"So Gwendolyn is going to divorce you on the grounds of your adultery?"

"On the contrary, My Lady Guinivere, _I_ am going to divorce _her_ because of hers."

"Malcolm, I think you've lost me again."

"On my return to Camelot, after I safely delivered you to your beloved convent and a life of simple contemplation, I will inform my brother Angus that the King has offered a terrible affront to the Branguard name. My wife is with child, and Arthur is the father. Gwendolyn was in tears when she confessed it to me, beside herself with remorse and guilt. Naturally Angus will know no restraint, he'll confront the King, throw down the gauntlet, his wrath will put the torch to all of Camelot!"

"In public?"

Malcolm smirked. "In private, I'll have to make sure of that. But do not worry, there will be idle tongues present, more than enough to have every gossiper of the town waging his or hers come nightfall. And what a fine juicy piece they'll have to describe."

Branguard now virtually giggled with glee. "Arthur will look at the gauntlet, tears in his eyes. His Majesty will fall to his knees, beg for My Lord Duke's forgiveness, promise him the world for it – which will cost Arthur nothing, as the Branguards have already got half of Camelot, it's actually impossible to give away the other half. And, last but by no means least, Arthur will offer his hand in marriage to the Lady Gwendolyn, which would of course mean that the child will be born a Pendragon. Arthur will have his new Gwen, Angus will be uncle to a Crown Prince. Well, kind of. He'll love it, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure I _can_ think right now" Guinivere muttered, fumbling her fur coat.

"Then leave it to me for a while, my dear. Severinus will have no choice, that's the best of it. If he refuses a legal annulment of my marriage, he is responsible for endangering Gwendolyne's and the unborn child's immortal soul by forcing her to give birth to a bastard, whom I would never accept under my roof."

"Does his Eminence see it that way?"

"He will. I had one of the most eminent Roman lawyers write up an expert opinion to that effect, it drips with seals and signatures."

"A _Roman_ lawyer?"

"Who happens to live in Mercia, but His Eminence does not know that. Severinus will accidentally find the document in one of his archives, as he will undoubtedly search through them like a hungry rat through the empty larder in his predicament."

"I never knew you dislike your wife."

"Wrong again. I love Gwendolyn, very much. But I cannot find it in me to be faithful to her. I tried and I failed, it must have been a hundred times. She showed the world a brave face, she pretended stupidity, was loyal to me when I was never loyal to her. Her kids are mine, she never betrayed me. I gave her money, titles, houses and estates – but the one thing she really craved she found for herself. Arthur has been her friend and confidant, for many a year. He needs a cover for you, and I owe it to Gwendolyn to make her the beneficiary of it. They both need a new life with someone they can trust."

"And the child?"

"Is mine. A perfect solution. When Galahad's …. lack of physical talents will become known, Arthur will have a perfect younger son and heir apparent. I do not doubt that Galahad, intelligent, kind-hearted Galahad, will be a loyal brother and advisor to the next High King of Albion. One Pendragon for the chainmail, one for the monk's frock. It'll fool them all."

Malcolm leaned back into his seat and grinned, very pleased with his own shrewdness. "Ironic, isn't it? Arthur and Morgana took Camelot with the help of the Old Religion, but countless generations afterwards will remember the Once and Future King for his Christian piety. Was there ever any religion that did not build its temples on the wreck and ruin of another's?"

Guinivere shivered. This was no longer funny. "Why should that be?" she asked boldly. "Galahad is but a boy and the other one not even born."

"It shall be because the King of Camelot and I will say so" Malcolm said. "Arthur is the best King Camelot has ever had, he is Albion's future, and after him comes _our_ son."

"What if it is a girl?"

"My Gwendolyn is not in the habit of giving birth to girls."

"You're tempting fate, Malcolm. You talk of it as if it was your oyster. The Gods have a tendency to ridicule our efforts."

He answered in mocked earnest "I'm a good Christian, My Lady Guinivere. I do not listen to such superstitious old women's talk. And you, with your permission, are far too young and beautiful to say such things!"

On impulse, Malcolm dropped his somewhat supercilious ironic attitude, leaned towards her once more and took her ice cold hand. "Trust me, Gwen. There aren't many of your old friends left to you, but I will always be among them. Arthur has made the Branguards second to none but him. If I betrayed him, I'd betray myself. Trust me, and I _swear_ I won't disappoint you."

"You frighten me, Malcolm. More than that, such assumption is terrifying. You sound like Uther."

"Uther brought strength when he took Camelot with his sword. Arthur and I will bring peace for generations to come, when we take all Albion with law and justice. When the Isle of the Blessed gave way, the Church was ready for the taking. What do you prefer, a free world or an age of just another superstition's slavery?"

"I don't know. I've seen people's faces whilst in prayer, some yawned but others were .… fascinated. It frightened me, this …. complete devotion, and at the same time, I envied them. How can anyone know what his fellow man wants?"

"I _do_ know. A full belly, peace and prosperity, some entertainment and people who keep trouble away. That's all they want."

"Then why strive for power and position? Why would someone as rich and secure as you still strive for anything at all? What do _you_ want, Malcolm of Branguard?"

He squeezed her hand, and his eyes seemed to shine, as if lit by some inner fire. "A Crown Prince for Albion, a Branguard by blood, a Pendragon in name and spirit! No dynasty could rise higher. Who gives a shit for Severinus' parsimonious babbling? Arthur and I will have a kind of immortality this dimwit blatherskite can't dream of."

Guinivere looked at his enraptured face and knew no word of her would weaken his belief. He saw the world he strove to bring about, as if it already existed. As if nothing and nobody could keep it out of his reach.

"I thank you" she said. "I know you are Arthur's friend. It's just that I'm…. I'm tired, I don't know how…"

In front of her eyes, he morphed back into the slick-tongued Courtier with the perfect manners; the man for all occasions, rich, careless and somewhat shallow, the person that many unwise people saw when they looked at him. "Of course, My Lady. Where are my manners? Rest, and rest assured that all will be well."

Like a much younger, much more agile and slender man, he swung himself out of the coach and into the saddle. To talk of his plans, to have a willing audience for them, had stimulated, had virtually energized him. With a last smile he was gone at a jaunty trot, to join his elder brother at the top of the cavalcade.

Gwen buried herself under her fur coat and blankets and closed her eyes.

Unwanted and uncalled, a memory came to her, from long ago. A Council Meeting's aftermath, Gaius and one of the Druid Elders quarrelling. Some shreds of their heated argument had been disconcerting, although she did not understand it at the time…

"_It has always been like this with you_" the Druid had shouted "_Algernon, and your precious Emrys, even Arthur – you all suffer of the same illness. Doubt. Doubt__ and questions. You and your 'buts' and 'ifs'….You believe __in __**people**__ - for pity's sake! - and in __the frail powers of __your __own __mind__s_."

"_We all believe in the Old Religion, where it is wise and for the good of mankin__d_" Gaius had barked back. "_It does not make us blind, that's all_."

"_You show no obedience to the Gods' will_…."

"_I have a will and a mind of my own, Revered Elder. __If __the__ King can live with that, I suggest you give it a try, too. __And now excuse me_!"

With these words, a very angry Gaius had taken his leave for this day. Gwen remembered how sorry she had felt, and how helpless. There had been tears in Alice's eyes later on, and for a while there had been talk that the Druid healers would no longer come to Gaius' seminar.

Gwen had not even known what it had all been about.

She was not sure she knew it now, but for one thing:

There was no room for doubt in Malcolm of Branguard. His faith in himself and in what he wanted to achieve was like armour around his soul, impenetrable for logic or fear.

And suddenly, quite out of the blue, she thought that, whatever their intentions were, people with no room for doubt and questions in their heads were the most frightening of all.


	23. The plans we make

**23 The plans we make**

"And with the power vested in me, I crown thee, Gwendolyn, Queen of Camelot and High Queen of Albion."

With a face livid from disgust and a mouth contorted as if he'd bitten into a lemon, Severinus lowered the new double crown of the Queen and High Queen Consort unto Gwendolyn's bent head that he had blessed into the holy state of matrimony with Arthur Pendragon only moments ago.

The crowd cheered ferociously as Arthur now kissed the bride.

As the incessant shouting and applauding drowned the rest of Severinus' meticulously prepared sermon, the bright spirit of Court and Crowd in Camelot did little to brighten the Bishop's sour mood.

"We are most grateful to Your Eminence" Arthur said consolingly while he and the Prelate embraced and kissed each other's cheeks. "The Queen and I could not have wished for a better, more suitable or tactful ceremony."

"It's a rare, sad thing, crowning two High Queens within four months" the Bishop shot back. "Without having a state funeral in between."

"I doubt the occasion could be jollier than it already is" Gwendolyn commented with a sneer "even if my predecessor _did_ lie six feet underground."

Severinus winced, gulped and for a brief moment, he, in spite of all his fineries and adornments, looked like the awkward young clergyman he had once been. "I didn't mean …. Far be it from me to wish the Lady ill….."

"We should forgive you then" Gwendolyn turned the knife in the wound as long as the pain was still fresh and raw, "Your Eminence must be under such strain, preparing for a royal christening to take place four months after the royal wedding."

Now Severinus' face turned virtually green.

"I'll refer Your Eminence's good wishes for her eternal health to My Lady Guinivere" Arthur said in some haste. "Now, if you'll excuse…." The King's hand pointed at the restless crowd behind him, waiting for a chance to leave the church.

"Your Majesty" the Bishop bowed his way out.

"Your Eminence" Arthur returned the courtesy, allowing the crestfallen priest a decent exit.

"You should not have provoked him further" Arthur whispered at Gwendolyn when they turned to leave, too. "It's unfortunate enough Severinus feels so trampled upon."

"I can't stand the stuffy oaf" Gwendolyn hissed back. "Son of a swineherd, if it had not been for his stalling, my belly would not have been _that _visible."

"Whoever his father was" Arthur soberly pointed out "as the Bishop of Camelot he's entitled to an opinion of his own. It _is_ a trifle odd for a Christian Bishop to bless a marriage whilst both partners could be considered married to somebody else."

Gwendolyn guffawed, unable to restrain herself any longer. "Oh, Arthur, Great King of Prudence and Understanding, save your breath for a worthier cause than Severinus-Pompous-Ass."

She took her newlywed husband by the hand, and dragged him after her. "Let's go, or they'll empty our last larders before we can have one bite from them!" Together they rushed down the rest of the aisle, greeting this one and that one, until they had finally made it to their seats and their well-filled plates in Camelot's palace.

Leon was the first of the knights to call for a toast, and all the others followed suit, until the sun was as low in the sky as the majority of the wedding guests were in their chairs.

"I hate being pregnant" the Queen whispered into her husband's ear. "All this wine, my favourite, and I'm stuck with apple juice and water. Can't stand the stuff. Gives me the hiccup!" She giggled.

"You're in the best of companies this land has to offer" Arthur good-humouredly reminded her of the not too discreet belching around them. "The highest in Camelot share your complaint. Just not because of apple juice."

"Speaking of the highest in the land …." Gwendolyn murmured, blushing a bit. "Would you mind …..?"

"No of course not. Give him my regards."

She rose, said some merry and very innocent good-byes which anyone accused her protruding belly for, and turned to leave the hall for her bedchambers.

"Gwen!" Arthur said, and she turned back to him with questioning eyes. "Something wrong, Arthur?"

"You should let him wait for once. You're the Queen now. And you do look the part. You're very beautiful, and he's an idiot."

She smiled again, and left.

She dismissed her Ladies and girls at the first opportunity, sat down in a window niche and pulled her naked feet under her legs.

She heard his soft steps on the carpet, and her nostrils flared a bit when his familiar smell hit them.

"I've come to offer Your Majesty my humble congratulations on your marriage and coronation" Malcolm said as he hugged her neck from behind. "And may I add that Your Majesty looks a picture in this setting."

"The setting sun is always kinder to women than the rising one" she murmured. "I've missed you."

"What, me? Could I have taken part in your wedding frolics? Hardly a seemly thing to do for your enraged and offended ex-husband" he joked. "I have been on humble pie and stale water all day!"

"As if Arthur would allow that!"

"How is he?"

"Content. Happy. Looking forward to holding the baby. Same as me."

"You are still good friends, then."

"We always were, since we were children. He's leaving come Monday, by the way. To inspect the newly built abbey villages in the west." She smirked, and it made her look quite cheeky.

"I strongly advised against it" Malcolm flared up in an instant. "It is too soon."

"_You_ are _here_, Malcolm, my love. In what is supposed to be Arthur's wedding night" she retorted, and there was a needle in her voice. "Is that not even sooner?"

"There must be no breath of scandal that could tarnish the child's legitimacy" Malcolm growled, stamping the ground in his impatient pacing. "I told Arthur, again and again, that this is imperative. Sometimes there's no talking to him!"

"You _invented_ the biggest scandal possible to make our son a Pendragon." She had risen to full height, and as always Malcolm was a bit put off that she was as tall as him. And twice as angry. "What has Arthur become today, _my_ husband or _your_ personal property?"

"Mercy, Your Majesty. Do not bit my poor head off, it still serves the King."

"It is no good, Malcolm. You won't sweet talk your way out of this one. I knew you'd get too big for your boots again, you always do. You won't get Arthur under your thumb, not with my help!"

"Gwendolyn…"

"Don't you 'Gwendolyn' me, Malcolm Branguard, it did not work when you returned home from your whoring, and it will not work now!"

He raised his hands in surrender "whatever My Lady wishes. I only came to tell you that the children are well."

"You left them with Angus?"

"I'm sure our little lambs will take good care of their uncle."

"They're 12, 10 and seven years old, our little lambs" she said. "Quite a handful, even if your brother really wasn't such a lambskin himself."

Malcolm laughed out loud.

"Angus is still mad at his wayward sister-in-law?" She tried to keep up her angry face, but the thought of her three rowdy boys tormenting My Lord the Duke of Cornwall made her smile, and Malcolm knew that he had won.

"Mad as a dog" he said. "He asked me, in all earnest, how I could stand to see you, ever again. Wanted me to give up all my Court Offices, and publicly tell Arthur to go and rot."

"Dear Angus" Gwendolyn smiled affectionately. "You're using him, as usual. You should have come clean with him by now, it's unworthy how you treat him."

"Tell Angus the truth? Heaven forbid. He'd run to Arthur, first thing in the morning, and shout it out in front of anyone, how sorry he is for having wrongly accused his King."

"Be reasonable Malcolm, he's your brother, and your Liege!

"He'll live! What the eye does not see, the heart cannot grieve over." Again, Malcolm took her shoulders, and gave her the best 'hurt-puppy-look' from his repertoire. "You said you missed me?"

"I missed my kids."

"Liar!"

"I am their mother!"

"Arthur will ask Angus to bring the boys to Court, as soon as the new Crown Prince is born. It will be a heart-wrenching scene of forgiveness and reunion. I think I shall weep. The people will love it, we'll make the top theme of every minstrel and bard in all of Albion."

"You are a cynic, Malcolm Branguard."

"I'm a politician. What of course is quite the same. Becoming a Saint is Arthur's part."

"And mine?" Gwendolyn asked coyly.

Instead of an answer, Malcolm let his hands slide down from her shoulders, down her arms. His breathing became deeper, faster when his fingers caressed her breasts through the thin veil of her nightgown. "I trust we'll both be damned" he whispered into her ear. "We can as well make the most of it."

When they made love, he was gentle, took every consideration of the baby, yet she could still sense his heat, his enrapture.

Her own body responded as it always had, but just as her own passion engulfed her, ready to take her conscious mind away, a bitter thought shot through her head.

He hadn't been like that since their first weeks of marriage, all these years ago. Back then he'd been loving an heiress. He was loving a High Queen now. But not her. Never really _her_.

For a second his touch, his voice, even his smell was repugnant to her. She wanted to struggle, wanted to spit into his face. "Malcolm, stop!"

He didn't listen.

"_Malcolm_!" She pushed him away violently.

"What?" He was clueless as to what the problem might be.

"This cannot go on. I'm Arthur's wife. I'll share his bed from now on."

Malcolm yelped with glee. "Never you fear, Gwenny. Arthur is besotted with his Guinivere, he won't come near you, neither drunk nor sober."

Again, his hands wandered purposefully over Gwendolyn's naked skin. Damn the woman, she was as cold as a corpse all of a sudden. And as stiff.

Well, never mind. He knew how to handle a woman's mysterious whims.

He kissed her neck, the soft skin over her throat. His sensitive fingertips found all the right spots.

Gwendolyn felt her skin ripple under his expert touch.

Yet inside her, a cold gaping hole made her sick.

Once, just once in all their years together she had wanted to come out on top.

She had wanted to take away the most precious thing he had.

For betraying her. For stepping on her love and honest devotion like on so much dirt. For handing her over to Arthur, and Arthur to her, as if they both were pawns in a chess game. Or cattle on the market.

She should have known it would not work.

"I love you" Malcolm now panted. "My love, my only one, I love you. I cannot live without you."

He _had_ nothing she could take. Nothing but this ferocious lie.

Gwendolyn closed her eyes and abandoned her mind and body to the waves that shook them both.

When Malcolm felt her tremble, saw her tears, it made him proud.

Not bad for a man after a hard day's work, aye?

He snuggled up to her, yawned and fell asleep almost at once.

He did not stir when Gwendolyn slipped out of the bed, and wandered off.

She found Arthur in his own room, opposite hers. As usual he knew what had happened from her face. "Not so good an idea after all" he stated.

Gwendolyn shrugged with more indifference than she felt. "No."

"I told you he's an idiot when it comes to women."

"Maybe."

"You must be freezing." Arthur scrambled to the other side of the bed and held his blanket up invitingly.

He tucked her in, rubbed her feet until they were warm and ruffled her hair, just as she had done with him when he had been a kid with no one to turn to but her and the Court Physician.

They talked all night, and only the first light saw them slowly doze off to sleep.

By that time, the young maid Severinus had planted among the new Queen's staff shut her big mouth that had so far done all the blabbering. She had seen it all, how My Lord Branguard had come to the Queen's bedchamber, late that night. Lord Branguard, who was supposed to be confined in his own castle, miles away, contemplating his ill fate. Lord Branguard had left the Queen's bedchamber much later, even after Her Majesty had left it, to go to her newly wed husband. No, the maid had not understood what was said, but she had heard the sounds of it all, all right. Well, it was obvious, was it not?

The girl curtsied when the Bishop thanked her. "Now leave the castle" Severinus went on "as I told you. If you do your duty, I might use you again. And pay you."

"Thank you, Your Eminence" the girl bowed, and left him. She was as much pleased with herself as with the precious golden necklace she held in her hand. As a first instalment, the Bishop had said.

Severinus went to his desk and sat down. He took his time, collecting his thoughts. Finally, he came to a decision. He took a sheet of paper, dipped his feather into the ink and began writing:

_My most gracious Lord,_

_Barely do I find the courage to report to you a most unnatural, most hideous plot to rob our most noble, most Christian Prince and future King Lord Galahad of his rightful inheritance to which the lord Jesus Christ has entitled him by God's Grace. The Lady__ Guinivere, a true daughter of our Church and sister in Christ has been shamelessly displaced and ill treated ….._

On and on scribbled the feather, Severinus couldn't write as fast as the words came to him.

All the humiliation, all the disappointment, his disgraceful powerlessness, when he had known he was cheated, and ridiculed …. God's own laws had been shamed and ridiculed in him. And it had all been a plot, from the very start, a plot to bring back the Old Religion, to stamp out the young, fresh, pure faith as a sapling on the soil.

Oh, did he not knew the Branguards for what they were, for what they always had been. Heretics. Every prayer, every pious donation to the Church a blasphemy, an act of vile hypocrisy.

They may cast down their eyes before the Holy Cross, but their hearts were proud, vain and obdurate. It was Satan's power that stiffened their backs, Satan's power that had given them access to the heart of an otherwise noble and glorious King.

This King's mind and soul were Severinus' garden, the garden that he had tended with so much loving care, so that it may become fertile and a safe harbour for the good seed of Christ to thrive and flourish.

And yet, in spite of all his labours, Satan's breed had defiled this garden, had led Arthur Pendragon astray, until he had cast out his gentle, most worthy wife, to put a snake on the throne of the High Queen. Once this snake's child was born, Arthur's days were numbered. The same fate would, as true as the gospel truth, befall his lawful wife Guinivere and their son Galahad.

If the young, misguided King could not see it - Severinus, his loyal, trustful servant could see it all.

And he would protect King Arthur, by all means necessary, fair or foul.

It all found its way into the letter, until it could as well have been written with Severinus' own heart's blood.

Naturally the Bishop could trust none of the Knights of Camelot, especially not those of the Round Table. Fools, blind fools, the lot of them, that they could not see what was going on in front of their very eyes. Their beloved King, his immortal soul, was in jeopardy, and still they were blind, _blind_!

But, the Lord be praised, there were still strong swords in Albion, held by strong arms, and strong hearts!

The Bishop rang the moment he had dried the ink with sand. In came the man who had waited for this bell to ring through the whole night.

Severinus handed him the letter, and their fingers brushed against each other.

The Bishop jerked away as if he had touched acid. Hastily he rose, and stepped back. Recoiling from the creature in front of him.

Never had he found an explanation as to why he found the man so utterly repugnant. On his own, he'd never taken the old clerk on. But, as a year ago the bald, freckled scarecrow had come from Gaul with the best recommendations and letters of reference, the Bishop had overcome his instinctive rejection and had taken him into his employ.

So far there had been no reason for complaint. The only odd thing about the old man was that the other staff avoided him as they would avoid the plague.

"See to it that it is delivered into My Lord's own hands, nobody else's" Severinus commanded.

The man laughed soundlessly as he bowed and took the letter. His open mouth sported two or three rotten teeth, and a somewhat blackish tongue. More than ever he reminded his master of a corpse that had by some error of nature escaped his grave.

The servant's cracking voice, when he answered, gave Severinus the creep. "I shall deliver it myself, Your Eminence."

"Don't be foolish, it is a ride of many miles, and in bad weather." The Bishop made it his duty to see to his subjects' needs with all possible Christian charity and brotherly love, in line with his exalted rank, superior wisdom and their humble station.

"Nonetheless, Your Eminence" the servant cackled. "My pleasure, Sir, my pleasure indeed."

"Do as you wish. The letter is urgent, that's all."

"Naturally, Sir. It is urgent, Sir, naturally."

Severinus looked up, irritated. He saw the gaping mouth, the glittering, watery eyes, and waved the servant out, a grand, but somehow impatient, uneasy gesture.

The man was almost gone when Severinus called him back. "I expect His Lordship's answer, Geor…. No…. what was your name again?"

"Jeffrey" the old man wheezed. "Jeffrey from Gryffyn, at your service."

"Look sharp now, Jeffrey. Give His Lordship my regards."

When Severinus could have seen the wheezy, brittle skeleton sweep across the road on one of the Bishop's best horses, he would have rubbed his eyes in awe. Gone was the appearance of weakness and old age's fragility.

It took Jeffrey not more than two days before he reached the letter's addressee.

The old clerk grinned and wiped his brow when he spotted the crest of the Baron Lancelot du Lac.


	24. Wheels turning

**24. Wheels turning**

A short while after his arrival at Lancelot's stronghold, Jeffrey watched the cavalcade's return from a hunting trip.

Horses screamed, men shouted, dogs barked and the cacophony of sounds and voices was accompanied by the bright colours of the cloaks and robes flapping in the wind. The brightest colour of all was the crimson blood of the prey that dripped from the band wagon's every corner. It sparkled in the bright sunlight.

Death had had a rich harvest today, and tonight, the tables in the castles would bend under the load of fresh meat, fine bread, fruit and loads of wine.

The entertainments the Baron du Lac provided for his present guest lacked nothing in splendour or grandeur; even the masters of the hunt in Camelot could have learned a thing or two.

Briefly Jeffrey remembered the times when he himself had been the guest of honour at such parties. Many a knee had bent, many a head had bowed to him back then, just as the people down in the yard were now scraping and bowing to somebody else.

Nobody would remember it but the old scarecrow, but the two high and mighty aristocrats who now made their way into the palace, had once been among those fussing about the man that now went by the name of Jeffrey the clerk.

As not even the prospect of receiving a most important message could change the noble routine of getting a bath and changing one's clothes, Lancelot du Lac and his guest reached the Baron's private rooms much later than Jeffrey, who awaited them humbly and demurely, Severinus' letter in his hand.

Whilst the Baron du Lac hardly noticed the presence of another human being in front of him, Jeffrey used his chance to secretly scrutinize the noble.

Time had been gentle to Lancelot, albeit fate and life had not. At least that was what Lancelot himself thought. For all his constant whining about his bad luck, the Baron was as handsome as ever, the hair still rich and jet black, the body lean yet strong and upright, eyes clear and sharp like those of a much younger man.

Like Arthur Pendragon, du Lac had grown from a pretty youth into an elegant, splendid man.

The thought made Jeffrey smirk to himself.

Here he was, Lancelot du Lac, the unhappiest noble in all Albion, widowed, shunned by the woman he loved, disregarded by his King, miserably exiled to one of the finest and richest estates in the country – and the poor, bereaved man looked a picture of health and strength.

Oh, but for the wonders good food, a warm house, fine clothes and a bunch of servants can do for an unhappy man.

The same applied to Lancelot's 'guest', who by any right should have been called a fugitive from the law of Albion. Velvet, brocade, silk – you name it, he had it.

Both nobles sported gold, silver, the finest steel available, all proudly presented in the swords and daggers they carried. Like a strutting peacock would show off its feathers.

It was true what people said, Jeffrey contemplated – for a rich man, melancholy is just one of many luxuries. The more so as the poor cannot afford it, eaten up as they are by their struggle for survival.

Once Jeffrey had been a man who threw bread to hungry dogs. Today he knew how to fight a dog over a dirty crust.

Therefore he felt entitled to having strong views on the matter. As an independent expert, so to speak.

However he had no time to dwell on it, as Lancelot now grabbed the letter, turned it in his hand, recognized the episcopal seal, and frowned. He showed it to his guest, who raised his brows. "Do you think…..?"

"And about time, too" the Baron du Lac growled as he rose and paced to the fireplace. "Let's see…" He scrolled through the letter, and his face changed colour. "I do not believe it" he pressed through clenched teeth. "Arthur would not dare … not even he could sink so low!"

His companion stretched out a lazy arm for the letter, and received it. "Dear friend" he said after a minute or two of reading "no reason to be astounded. Sooner or later, the Branguards were bound to make their move. Wolves in sheepskins, dear friend, wolves in sheepskins."

When Lancelot kept silent, nagging his knuckles, the guest smiled maliciously. "So your favourite damsel is once more in distress. Are you willing to do something about it?"

"How can you ask?" Lancelot flared up. "And my son…."

"SHUT UP!" the other shouted instantly. "NEVER let me hear these words again. Prince Galahad is King Arthur's only son, the heir presumptive to both his crowns. Under his banner we will march, to his just and lawful claim we shall give our blood."

"Oh, spare me the parsimonious propaganda" Lancelot snapped. "I'm not one of your mercenaries. I know what this is about …."

"All the more reason for you to keep your mouth shut. If you want to see Galahad on the throne of Camelot, the Branguards must go first. Then Arthur and anyone who's willing to support him."

"For that we need an army. More than one. The Branguards alone can muster two among them, let alone the rest of Albion. Arthur is High King now."

"Calm yourself, brother Lancelot, my dearest son-in-law. We will have all the armies we need, once our friends from Gaul are ready to join us together with their Saxon allies. Hengist's and Horsa's forces alone would …."

"And, pray tell me" interjected Lancelot sarcastically "how long will that take? You've been dangling this particular carrot in front of my nose for years now!"

The other noble shrugged nonchalantly. "A few months. Four, at the very worst. The Black Duke…."

"Whom I believe to be a mystic figure that died with Noah's Ark" Lancelot snorted.

"Rest assured, he's as real and alive as you and I. 12 years he worked and plotted untiringly to form this alliance. But even so he can only do so much. We must prepare the ground for him."

Hate-filled Lancelot stared at the other. "Sometimes I wonder" he snarled "why I keep up with you, _Lord_ Erec. Always the same old fairy tales, the same big, empty promises. If it had not been for me, and my willingness to hide you here, you and this monstrous creature…..." he pointed at Jeffrey who crouched in the room darkest corner "would still be in miserable exile in Gaul."

"I wasn't miserable in Gaul" Erec snapped back. "As you know, I was the Black Duke's honoured guest. It was my friendship, and the loyalty I feel towards my unfortunate ward's widower, that drove me back to see to your affairs. But if you feel better without me, by all means, chuck me out today."

Erec, once one of Camelot's Peers of the Realm, watched Lancelot pacing the luxurious room with big strides, both fists on his hips, his head set between the raised shoulders, fuming, but silent.

"I see that this is not your wish after all" Erec stated after a while. "Perhaps you think I owe you some kind of favour for your leniency, yes, Baron du Lac?"

"Don't you?" Lancelot asked back. "If you're not obliged to me, why are you here?"

Erec crossed his legs. "Indeed, my dear, indeed. Let me pay back my debt to you. I'll see to it that your beloved Lady gives us her leave under hand and seal that we're acting on her and on her son's behalf."

Lancelot stopped in midstride. "If you touch as much as one hair on Guinivere's head…." he started to say.

Erec raised his hands and interrupted him "God's blood, Lancelot, how often did I tell you, I want the same as you. Your Guinivere and your Galahad safe and snug, on their way to the throne. Shall I write it down? So that you can refer to the notes whenever your memory fails you, in spite of me constantly repeating myself."

"But how? You keep babbling of the big plans you made, but nothing ever happens."

"All right, this time it will. Listen, Lancelot this is what we are going to do…."

For many an hour, Erec explained his plan, the schedule, the importance of timing, the importance of not taking the second step before the first one had been a secure success.

Lancelot fidgeted, shunned, doubted and questioned every step of the way.

Some part of him, the part that still remembered other times in his life, kept him where he was. Kept his mind locked in place, like feet glued to the ground, so that the one, decisive step over the threshold was not possible.

What they were discussing now was a point of no return. If these steps were actually taken, they would mean war. War against the High King of Albion. War against Leon, Percival, …. Hundreds, even thousands would die in battles fought in breach of every oath Lancelot du Lac had ever made, of every law he'd once held sacred…..

Except, of course, the one oath he'd once made to himself. To expose Arthur to anyone, as the fraud he was. To see Galahad take the throne of Camelot. To make Guinivere what she should have always been - his wife.

"I agree, Erec" Lancelot said, exhausted as if he'd been fighting all day. "Whatever the cost, whatever the outcome – I'm with you. Say no more, I beg you."

Erec nodded, hiding his triumph as best he could. "You won't regret it, Lancelot. Think of Severinus' letter. The Branguards are planning to murder your beloved, and your son. Never forget that, Lancelot. Never."

With a last pat on the brooding du Lac's shoulder, Erec went out, snipping his fingers at Jeffrey to follow him.

Once safely out of the Baron's earshot, Erec turned towards the old clerk. "I'll write the answer to Severinus myself, tonight, under Lancelot's seal. Better safe than sorry. Arthur tends to have the devil's own luck on his side sometimes. We might still be betrayed."

"The Bishop wouldn't talk" Jeffrey said with a cough. "Although he adores the King with all his heart. He thinks Pendragon is surrounded by treacherous, false friends." For some reason, Jeffrey found that very amusing, he chuckled like mad.

"Severinus is a dumbass who owes everything he is and has to me" Erec snarled. "Ungrateful bastard. Not a word from him before this letter."

"True enough, My Lord, true enough" rasped Jeffrey "although one might say in his favour that he does not know you're here. I take it you never gave him your address in Gaul?"

"Hush your mouth, you insolent imp. Did you expect me to inform the Bishop of Camelot about my connections to the Black Duke?"

"True enough, true enough" repeated Jeffrey with a deep bow from which he had trouble to rise again. "What a treacherous bastard the Bishop is. He is so very loyal to his King that a condemned traitor like yourself cannot trust him. And yet Severinus betrays Arthur to Lancelot, a knight and high noble of Camelot, who has long since betrayed Arthur to you. A fact well known to you and I, My Lord, but not to Severinus. Ours is a bad world, a bad world indeed."

With an enraged yelp, Erec pulled his sword partly from the scabbard. "QUIET, I said! Why I endure you near me is a mystery to me sometimes."

"It is my intelligence" Jeffrey chuckled unimpressed. "Give and take, their secrets for you, your news for them. People believe me, although they hate me, although they loath the sight of me, they never doubt my words. I'm a gift to you, Lord Erec, a heaven-sent."

"Or from the other side" Erec muttered. "And you need me more than I need you. Nobody would take you in but me."

"I know, My Lord, I know. No decent folk would take me in. But you are a noble man. What use have you of decency?"

Erec felt, there was a slight in that. He should not suffer it, should not let it go unpunished, but he let it go. He had bigger fish to fry.

"All right, friend Jeffrey, no need to get upset" he therefore said with forced kindness. "My doubts concern our brother du Lac. For that reason, I want you to stay. Work on him, Jeffrey, keep his worst nightmares alive before his mental eyes. You know what to say, and how. Let him not have a moment's peace, no time to calm down, to remember, to think. Understood?"

"Perfectly, My Lord. But your answer to the Bishop?"

"One of the boys can deliver it. As far as Severinus knows, you originally came from the du Lac estate. He won't smell a rat if you do not return. Now go to Lancelot, go, go. I have a heap of letters to write."

"And some of them to Gaul?"

"That's my affair!"

"And mine, too." Jeffrey raised his chin defiantly. "I miss the Gaulish ghouls!"

"What are you blabbering now?"

Jeffrey cocked his head. "Perhaps, My Lord, I should call them the ghoulish Gauls instead. For they will wreak havoc, worse than the Ghouls themselves, once they're here. A precious garden, our Albion, and preciously little will be left of it."

"It is for the good cause. Now go to your work."

"The good cause, of course. If your cause is good, it does not matter what havoc is caused in its course. I'll mark that down. Farewell, My Lord." The old clerk trotted away, and left a baffled Erec rendered speechless.

Whilst searching for Lancelot, as well as for a way to worm himself into the Baron's mind and soul, Jeffrey berated himself.

Blast this urge he got every once in a while, just as other people got the common cold.

This unseemly urge to warn them all. To tell them what they were about to do.

He had always been like that. His silly, soft heart, it was the curse of his life. He had plotted untiringly to bring them to the point where they stood today, and now he felt the urge to _warn_ them? He had used their greed, their hurt pride, their lust for power – and now he _pitied_ them?

Fate had _made_ him a villain, he had not asked for it. After so many black deeds, why on earth couldn't fate provide him with an equally black heart? But no, fate had sense of humour, it took away everything, except for this damned, misplaced _pity_ with every day human stupidity.

Perhaps there was some perverse logic behind it all. He who cannot feel fear can never really be brave. He who has no conscience cannot be really evil? Was that it?

_Was_ he evil? Was Jeffrey the clerk really evil?

What made good good and evil evil?

Sometimes he missed Merlin terribly; the boy had had such a refreshing black-and-white view on the world.

Camelot and Arthur were good, therefore everything done in their favour was good. The Mercians might think they could fight for Mercia, because to them, Mercia was good. A High Master of the Blessed Isle might think fighting for this Isle was good, because to him, his home was a good thing; paradise even.

But no, as long as they fought against Camelot, they were, per definition, evil.

Oh Merlin, sacred innocence, how much I envy you!

Arthur, on the other hand ….. his mother's sainthood, his father's common sense and instinct. A good heart, a strong will, and a very healthy appetite for ruling - it had been a mistake to leave so much potential to the ramblings and false pretences of a parsimonious Court Physician and an upstart peasant-turned-servant, self-styled warlock-born-of-legends!

A most regrettable error of judgement.

Alas, the mistake had been made and could not be undone. Arthur Pendragon was one more obstacle to overcome and undo, before, as all else was lost to him, the man named Jeffrey could finally have his long-craved revenge.

Speaking of the great plan - where was this damned Lancelot when one needed him?

"You! Stay there!"

"_About time_" Jeffrey thought when he skidded to a halt. He turned and bowed reverently. "Baron du Lac. A pleasure. My master sends his greetings and would you excuse him at dinner tonight."

"Tell him, I'll gladly dine alone" Lancelot retorted.

"What bitterness, My Lord. Perhaps you still doubt our plans? My master would be overjoyed to hear your sorrows, if only to lay them at rest. If you would confide in me, I'll gladly convey them to him, sparing you both the inconvenience of quarrelling face to face."

Du Lac hesitated. Something inside him revolted against the thought of letting this creature come even closer to him. And yet …. the sycophant was smart. And Erec was a know-all, a smarty-pants who would not let anyone finish a sentence without saying two himself. "Come to my study" Lancelot said on the spur of the moment.

Jeffrey grinned contently when he did just that. Praised be the Great Mother for creating mankind as a bunch of dimwits.

Without further ado, Lancelot slumped into his chair by his desk, and poured himself a glass of wine.

Jeffrey waited.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Then the old man settled himself comfortably in the other chair, took the pitcher and helped himself to a glass.

Lancelot swallowed. Hard. His hand wandered to the hilt of his blade.

Jeffrey smiled patiently. "You wanted to say, My Lord? My master awaits my timely return."

The Baron let go of the hilt, cleared his throat, and directed his gaze at something behind Jeffrey's back. "There is something I want you to convey to your master" he said a trifle hoarsely. "And I want you to weigh your words when you tell him. It is of the utmost importance that Erec does not mistake it for cowardice or superstition on my part, as it may be decisive for the outcome of our enterprise."

"Go on, My Lord."

"We may defeat every army Arthur can deploy, but it is vital that we can lay hands on him, his person, too. To do that, we have to get his sword and scabbard first. As long as he's got them, he's invincible. The weapon is cursed."

Jeffrey raised his brow in wonder. "Forgive me, My Lord, I know there are many rumours about Excalibur, but that seems a bit far-fetched. Every good Christian knows that magic does not exist in our world." He smiled, and for an instant, his embitterment showed. "I know the latter for a certainty."

"That's as maybe" Lancelot replied "Excalibur is the one exception. Arthur's wrists were shattered during Osric's ritual, I know it from his own mouth that without Excalibur's magic powers he could not fight at all. He once told his precious Merlin so, and I overheard it."

"This is intriguing, My Lord, but ancient history. Since then ….."

"Hear me out, damn you. Since then, I've often fought against the High King, before and after Merlin's disappearance, and believe me, I did not hold back. Accidents do happen during tournaments, and it would have saved us all a lot of trouble and bloodshed if he'd died by my blade. But I couldn't reach him, whatever I did."

"Perhaps My Lord Baron is not as good a fighter as he thinks."

Lancelot paled with rage, but still he restrained himself. What did this scurrilous fellow know about sword play? "One night, I had a chance to examine the sword" he pressed out. "I took it from its scabbard, and the sheath alone made my skin ripple. I could raise the blade, all right, but when I tried to wield it, something fended me off, I had to let go, it was like lightning shooting through my body. And I heard voices."

"Voices?" Jeffrey leaned forward, intrigued.

"One or two, whispering to me. Like ghosts. Female ghosts. It was …. spooky. Must have been witchcraft."

"What did those voices say?"

Lancelot shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. "A warning, I presume. I didn't take heed, I heard someone in the corridor when I had no business being in the King's chambers. I had trouble enough putting the blade back, and getting out of there, unseen."

"I say, even for a brave man like you, that must have been an unsettling experience" Jeffrey said, securing his prey out of habit, but absentmindedly. "You're sure you could not understand the whisper? Or recognize the voice?"

Lancelot, only too glad that his ghost story had found a sympathetic ear, completed his narrative in a roundabout way which under normal circumstances would have driven Jeffrey mad with impatience.

But this time, the old man was indulgence itself. Again and again he asked the Baron for every little detail, brought him back to the core of his subject when he strolled from it, secured the facts by coming back to them.

Some hours later, Jeffrey knew all there was to know about Morgause's last present to the King of Camelot.

And with that knowledge, every single thought of pity or remorse was gone.


	25. Fortuna's Blindness

**25. Fortuna's Blindness**

"What does that mean?" Gwendolyn's sharp voice startled the girl in front of the mirror, and she let go of the chain in her hand. With a loud clatter the heavy, precious necklace fell on the dressing table and shattered one of the High Queen's most valuable glass phials. "Your Majesty, I…. I…."

"You what? Whose is this jewellery? How did you come by it? Answer me, wretched creature!"

The girl broke into tears. She stammered senseless words, getting herself even deeper into the jam with every shaking syllable. Finally she couldn't help herself no more and blurted out with the truth.

Gwendolyn did not trust her ears. "The Bishop gave you this? It is worth a fortune, whatever made him give it to you?"

"I …. I…." and only now the girl's common sense snapped back into place. Anything was better than Gwendolyn finding out about her spying. "He likes me. Severinus is fond of me. Very fond."

"I don't believe you. How dare you? Give the necklace to me, at once!"

"It is mine!"

"Give it to me. _Now_!"

The Queen pocketed the jewellery, and boxed the maid's ears with some force. "Pack your things, you're going home tomorrow. Get out of my sight!"

The girl rushed out, crying loudly, and Gwendolyn banged the door shut behind her that the echo resounded from the castle walls.

This did it.

Not enough that she had to crawl around the premises like a fat cow hardly able to move, not enough that Arthur and Malcolm had been absent from his palace for more than six weeks now and 'their' dutiful wife had begun talking to herself for lack of decent company, no, now even the wretched serving girls took liberties with Her Majesty the Queen!

As for Severinus, the old sanctimonious hypocrite, preaching water to others, he himself quite obviously preferred the best of wines. And with one of her maidens, no less.

Blast Arthur's notions of royal behaviour, blast Malcolm's political schemes and plots, she was fed up with it all, up to her back teeth. Enough was enough.

Gwendolyn rushed out of her chambers like a thunderstorm in full swing. "My carriage" she snapped at the guard in front of her door. "This instant!"

"Your Majesty?" said the baffled guard.

"Are you daft? I'll visit my children at Branguard castle. Today!"

"But the King said…"

"Arthur isn't here, or do you see him anywhere around? My carriage! This is an order!"

The guard found that he had run out of arguments. If his wife saw no reason to heed the King's orders in his absence, why and how should a humble guard soldier heed these orders?

Gwendolyn gave her harassed servants a very hard time before everything was packed and ready, but when the sun was setting, the small entourage of two carriages accompanied by Sir Leon, Percival and half a dozen soldiers took off.

Up to the last minute Leon had done his best to dissuade his obstinate Queen from the impromptu trip to a castle that presently harboured not only her three sons but also their uncle, who so far had shown no signs of forgiveness, neither for his King nor for his former sister-in-law.

It had done him no good.

Just the opposite.

Only when they set off he recognized his own wife in one of the Queen's Ladies-in-Waiting. Full of foreboding, he looked around, and there he was, 12 years old Gareth, his first born.

"What the hell are you and Gareth doing here?" Leon asked his wife at the first possible opportunity.

"Our son is of today a member of the Queen's guard" she snapped. "It's a perfect start for a young squire, as well you know. And I'm going to visit my parents at Branguard castle, I've been asking and asking you to take me for more than four months now, all you ever said was that you couldn't make the time!"

"The same applies to you, woman!" Leon said accusingly. "Visiting your parents, my foot. Half the court is assembled at Branguard castle this time of year, and you want to be seen gallivanting about the scene, in your new dresses, that's all. And our little daughter only three years old tomorrow!"

His Lady answered that with a radiant smile and a pulling back of a fur blanket by her side. Underneath it appeared the sleeping form of Leon's second child, her little cheeks rosy, and smiling in her sleep.

Leon felt his own cheeks grow hot with anger. She knew what he thought of his little ones being dragged around the country, outside the safety of Camelot Castle, she _knew_ he didn't like it. Damn it, not once, not even _once_ the darn woman could do as she was told!

"Is anything wrong, Sir Leon?" the Queen now asked. "If it pleases you, would you allow your wife to close the carriage window? It's getting awfully dusty in here."

His jaws clenched, his shoulders stiffly set, Leon spurred his horse and trotted off to take the lead. Behind his back, he heard the women giggle.

Sometimes he ached with longing for the old times, with a handmaiden named Guinivere riding her own mare astride, with her own blade to take care of herself. The times in which having children had been a concern of old men or commoners, but not of a Knight of Camelot.

But today? _Blast_ all females of this world, royal or otherwise!

As it happened, Sir Leon and His Eminence the Bishop of Camelot wished all women to hell in exactly the same moment, for exactly the same reason.

"You told the Queen _what_?" Severinus raged when the apprehensive maid had finished her story. "That you got the necklace from _me_?"

"Ye..e..es" the girl muttered, suddenly quite uncomfortable inside her own skin. "But she thinks … it's for services rendered, Your Eminence. If you follow my drift. You aren't _that_ old, after all."

Severinus wasn't listening. His thoughts went head over heels. The Queen's sudden departure could be no coincidence; her intention to visit her sons was only a ruse. Gwendolyn disliked him thoroughly; she hadn't made _that_ her best kept secret.

No, the Queen was on her way to inform the King about Severinus' plot, and that would be the end of everything the Bishop had worked for in Camelot.

Severinus therefore could no longer heed Baron Lancelot's urgent request to postpone any action, to turn a blind eye to Arthur's frequent visits at Guinivere's convent, while Malcolm Branguard freely roamed the chambers of his divorced wife whenever he felt like it. What for the Baron needed the extra time before he took action to bring Guinivere and Galahad to safety was a mystery to Severinus anyway.

But one thing was certain - if Gwendolyn made it to her royal husband, the days of Church's power in Camelot were numbered, and Severinus could not let that happen. Who knew, Gwendolyn might have sent a messenger pigeon ahead!

Hastily the Bishop scribbled a note, whilst sweat dripped from his brow and ran down his back. He sealed the note with an unmarked ring, and handed it to the girl, together with his verbal instructions for its delivery.

She ran out, and he buried his face in his hands, shivering with dread. _Forgive me, __sweet Jesus__, for what I am forced to do in your name, forgive me_.

Only an hour later, the girl had reached the note's addressee in the woods near Camelot. The seasoned soldier, one of Lancelot's most trusted men, read the note twice, very carefully. Then he looked at the girl. "You read this?"

"No" she replied with a quick smile. "I can't read."

"Good" he nodded. Then he took out his knife and cut her throat. She died with widened, unbelieving eyes, but without a scream. He didn't care, they were safely out of earshot anyhow. He dragged her body into the small shelter he'd built for himself, took his few belongings and left the place without looking back.

He found his men where he had left them, at a long since abandoned camp of bandits, in a derelict castle outside of Camelot's main roads. "I've got the signal" he said, grumbling with discontent. "I know it's not what our master wanted, but as the tottering eunuch says all's lost, we must act now or never."

In spite of these motivating and encouraging words, the men didn't exactly make all possible haste and so they did not catch up with Gwendolyn and her entourage before the next morning.

"Bad work" his second in command said when they spotted the Queen's train from their hiding place above the road. "All the womenfolk, some boys and a handful of men. Dirty work."

"That's what we are paid for" his superior shot back. "D'you think His Lordship will dirty his hands with such doings? Get ready."

Meanwhile, from his place in the lead of the small escort, Sir Leon searched the hill's edge for any signs of life. The road passed through a ravine here, after which the terrain sloped down abruptly on one side, while the other side was blocked by high hills of solid rock.

If any place of the way was ideal for an ambush, it was this one.

Not that he suspected any real danger for the Queen's troops, Camelot was a peaceful place, had been so for years, but one never knew….

"Leon" he heard his wife's voice from behind. She had taken refuge in the first coach when her child had begun complaining, while Gwendolyn and two of her other Ladies had stayed in the second carriage.

"What?" Leon asked angrily.

"Minka is sick again."

"I've told you, you shouldn't have brought your daughter!"

"Some of the others have brought their kids. She's your daughter, too. Take her on your saddle for a while, she needs fresh air!"

Leon rolled his eyes at Percival, who smiled sympathetically. "Take the little mite, will you Percy?" Leon asked. "Gareth is too gallant a warrior to play with his little sister in public, and my wife will give me no peace."

Percival had just opened his mouth to reply when the first arrows hit the second coach's escort and turned their world upside down.

"Dismount" Leon yelled when he saw the first attackers coming from the hillside, swords drawn while their associates still showered the Camelot men with arrows. Percival cursed blasphemously. Five of the twelve soldiers had been killed or seriously wounded in the first onslaught.

Of the remaining seven, three came down in the next five minutes. They had no room for manoeuvring, the horses were stuck in the narrow passage, they dragged the coaches with the women and children trapped inside to and fro, so that on top of arrows raining from both sides and enemy soldiers wielding their blades the warriors were constantly in danger of being rolled over or trampled down.

The mercenaries' plan worked a treat, it paid off wonderfully that he had sent down only an absolute minimum of men, whilst the others stayed uphill, covering the terrain with their bows, harassing the Camelot men, and most of all the frantic animals, even further. The road was bone dry, when the hooves and feet stirred the ground the dust came up in clouds, blurring the sight of the defenders more than that of the attackers from uphill, who fired into the dense crowd regardless of their own men.

Leon and Percival stood back to back, fighting for dear life. Every thought of a defence line or of moving nearer to the coaches was out of the question, as five enemy soldiers at once focussed all their strength on the only knights in the Camelot escort, cutting them off from the few Camelot guards still on their feet.

With one hard, quick grip Gwendolyn ripped the seam of her skirts apart, so that she could move more freely. She and another woman managed to jump out of the coach a split second before the horses bolted.

Breathless, powerless, with a haze before her eyes, Gwendolyn nevertheless watched her own coach, with two young girls still inside, collide with the first carriage. Both drivers were thrown off their seat. Two of the second carriage's wheels broke at the same time, effectively nailing the cart to the spot where it keeled over.

The first coach came free of the wreckage and for the horses, there was no holding back. Gwendolyn screamed when she saw the wagon jump forward, out of the ravine, the mounts blinded by dust and panic. "Gareth, your mother!"

The squire, who had just now reached the Queen, turned, spurred his horse and raced after the vanishing coach at top speed. Together the boy and the wagon disappeared behind the ravine.

In vain Percival and Leon tried to fight their way to the others, their attackers kept them where they had them trapped, their backs to the wall. Percival pressed one of his attackers back with his sword, kicked the other in the groins until the man doubled over, screaming with pain. "Leon, run! Get the others."

"Percy, I…."

Leon choked on his words when blood streamed out of his friend's mouth. Like a huge, ugly insect a cross bow's bolt stuck out of Percival's neck. He fell down to his knees, gurgling.

With a loud scream of rage and despair, Leon stabbed his sword at the attacker's belly, cutting it open, partly emboweling his enemy. Percy's counterpart was stuck for a moment, when the dying Camelot knight fell on the other's legs. Leon raised his blade and cut the man's head off.

For a precious moment, he was free. Frantically he jumped to Percy's side, felt for a pulse that was no longer there. Percival was dead, his eyes stared unseeing at the sky above.

Somewhere in the distance, a horn was blown. A rustling, a stirring in the dust that covered the whole scene, then all was quiet but for the moaning of the wounded or dying men and horses of the escort. Some female voices were sobbing somewhere.

With a start, Leon jumped to his feet. "Gareth! Minka. Sweetheart, where are you? For the love of God, answer me."

He flinched violently when a hand tugged at his sleeve, and he shouted his wife's name.

"No, Sir Leon, it's me, Wintha. The Queen, you must come at once …."

On the edge of the hill, the mercenary assembled his men, and counted heads. Satisfied with what he found, he nodded. He had given the signal for retreat in the perfect moment. All were accounted for; he had lost even less men than he had feared and the survivors had dragged their dead or wounded comrades with them. He was confident that no sign would lead to his employer. The attack had been a complete success.

He walked over to the other side of the edge and stared down.

A complete success, indeed. The Queen's coach had not made it very far before it had come off the road and fallen many metres deep unto the rocks of the abyss. Nothing stirred down there.

Mission accomplished, then. Time to march off. And that he did.

He didn't care about other survivors. After all, someone had to tell the High King what had happened to his Queen.

The news found Arthur unprepared, unsuspecting of any harm.

He and Elyan were with Guinivere, in the convent's orchard, admiring her hapless fumbling with a bow lute Arthur had brought her for a present. They both frowned angrily when Malcolm of Branguard staggered towards them, like a drunkard filled up to the rim.

"What the hell…." Arthur said, but he broke off when Malcolm raised his head. His face was smeared with tears and dirt. "They're dead, Arthur" he whispered. "They're all dead."

Guinivere yelped and jumped up, while Elyan grabbed the other man by the shoulder. "What are you talking about? Who's dead?"

"There's been an attack. An ambush. Percival, almost a dozen men, the girls, and Leon's family, his wife and kids – all dead."

For a second, Arthur was too shocked to say anything, but he recovered quickly. "Gwendolyn?" he asked urgently. "The child…."

Malcolm inhaled sharply and rubbed his eyes with his fist in one, rapid, hard movement. When he spoke again, his voice was much colder than before. "They're both dead" he replied, staring into Arthur's face.

"Oh my God" breathed Guinivere.

Malcolm ignored her. Out of the blue, his face was almost split in two by a radiant, unnatural smile. "Would you believe it?" he asked the two men, as if it all were a perfect joke. "All we've gone through." He laughed out. "Gwendolyn is dead, and we're left with nothing. Nothing!" While sudden tears streamed down his reddened features, an appaling sight against the foolish smile that still split his face, he repeated it, again and again, until his voice broke. "She's dead and there's nothing to show for it."


	26. Misconceptions

**26. Misconceptions**

"Damn Severinus, damn him to hell!" Lancelot screamed it, and his fist crashed on the table. "The brainless idiot. Tottering fool, I'll wrench his neck!" The beautiful crystal goblet he had been holding in his other hand was shattered to a million pieces when it hit the wall with ferocious force.

"This" Erec said from his seat at the other end of the huge table "is indeed a disaster."

"It's the end of all our plans, we're finished, _finished_" Lancelot foamed.

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves…" Erec tried to reason with his enraged ally but Lance would have nothing of it. "What is there to get ahead of?" he barked. "Our hands are tied, we have no reinforcements, your fabulous Gaul-Saxon army is still months away."

"Weeks" Erec corrected calmly. "One month, at the worst."

"What does it matter?" Lancelot shouted. "Even as we speak, all Albion is flocking to Arthur's side, assuring him of their unwavering loyalty! He's a tragic figure now, a martyr. Days, a week at the very best, before anyone makes a connection between this attack and Severinus. There will be a traitor, mark my words, there always is. If this blithering idiot of a Bishop had his spies in Arthur's household, then the King has his spies among Severinus' followers. Arthur is no fool."

"With all due respect, My Lords" interjected Jeffrey softly "of that I'm not so sure."

"What's that?" Lance asked rudely.

"The High King is planning a public declaration. A decree that shall entitle Prince Galahad to a vast fortune on his royal father's eventual demise, but which will also exclude him from the succession to the throne of Camelot." Jeffrey spoke with his eyes modestly lowered to the ground. "I have it on the very best authority."

"_W__hat_?" du Lac puffed. "A public insult to the law of the land? Why should Arthur do a thing like that?"

In his anger, Lancelot missed the tale-telling look Erec and Jeffrey exchanged. Indeed, why should King Arthur exclude the boy from the succession to the throne? Because the rumours about the young Prince's physical and perhaps mental disabilities were true, that was why. And, as Arthur quite obviously no wish to enter a _real_ marriage to another woman ... But there was little use in explaining the details of Arthur's true predicament to the Baron du Lac.

Quite the contrary.

"Isn't it obvious?" Erec asked silkily. "Arthur knows you're the boy's father, doesn't he? Do you expect him to snub his precious Branguards in favour of a son that isn't his?"

"I thought we'd agreed not to mention Galahad's true descent" Lance snapped with a warning look at Jeffrey, who pretended that he wasn't listening.

Erec supressed an amused laugh. Sometimes good old Lancelot was hilariously naïve. "Besides" he continued patiently "the Branguards were that close to seizing power at Arthur's Court, they will not give it up, not for themselves, not for the Old Religion, which is their real objective in this."

"So you keep saying" muttered Lancelot acidly.

Erec scrutinized his fingernails to hide his contempt for the other. "I have ample proof that the Branguards strive to destroy our faith. Galahad is a true and loyal son of our Church." he explained with forced benevolence. "And from Arthur's legitimate first Queen, no less. Do the maths, Lancelot."

"I don't follow you. Guinivere and Arthur are divorced. Severinus himself blessed the High King's second marriage."

"Under _duress_, Lance. Unlike her successor in Arthur's bed, Guinivere happens to be very much alive. Now that Gwendolyn is dead, there can hardly be any issue from her, can there. The Bishop will declare the divorce null and void."

"Why should Severinus expose himself such? He'd virtually ask for being caught red-handed."

"Our good Bishop is a true believer."

"Aren't you, Erec, my brother in Christ?"

Erec looked at the ceiling, unnerved by du Lac's sudden, unexpected sarcasm. "My motives are not the issue here" he replied irritably. "Severinus would not, in fact, being who he is, _could_ not, accept Arthur's upcoming act of succession, as long as the legitimate male heir is still alive. He'll do everything in his power to force Arthur into taking Guinivere, and with her Galahad, back."

"Thereby putting the hangman's noose around his neck with his own hands" Lancelot objected.

"Of what concern is Severinus' neck to us, dear friend? A moment ago, you wanted to kill him with your own hands. The only important thing is that Arthur will categorically refuse. Even if he won't, the Branguards will do it for him. It's life or death for them."

Lancelot went ghostly pale, while Erec and Jeffrey waited with bated breath.

And, indeed, Lancelot thought what they wanted him to think. "That's the death sentence for Guinivere and my… the boy" he said. "Malcolm Branguard will see to it, that …."

"Then it is our task to prevent this horrible, unnatural deed" interrupted Erec. "We must take action now, it must be _us_ who forces Arthur's hand, not the Branguards. Of course we must take care that our actions are legitimate and ethical, before God and the people of Albion. On that score, Severinus' death might yet be our salvation….."

Erec talked and talked and by nightfall, all was settled and decided.

Two days later, Arthur declared, in front of all the court of Camelot, as well as of the nobles of Albion, his new act of succession. However, it was an extended version. Pendragon began with the surprising announcement that he would take his first Queen back. But that was the only appeasing thing he said. Not only did Arthur exclude Galahad from the succession. The High King had also chosen the late Queen Gwendolyn's and Malcolm Branguard's eldest son as his heir presumptive.

Malcolm, who had opposed and fought his King over this last bit up to the last moment, stood behind the throne, as white as chalk. For days he'd been telling Arthur that this was the one distinction to the Branguard family no other noble house in Albion would stomach.

With Gwendolyn's death, the arrangement had come to an end; the King had to remarry, and this time in earnest.

But Arthur had been adamant. No more marriage schemes, no lies. He would settle things now, once and for all. It was a last honour to a dead High Queen and nothing Branguard said could convince him otherwise.

Malcolm was scared stiff by what would come from this, and he did not have to wait for long.

There was an uproar among the assembled nobles that was impossible to pacify. Louder and louder the men shouted and yelled their protest.

The turmoil fell silent only when one man shouted louder than anybody else.

Then and there, Severinus raised his voice in heated objection.

As the public quarrel between King and Bishop escalated into a full blown scandal, one word gave the other, until Severinus, in the vilest words, condemned the Branguards as traitors and heretics, who were secretly plotting to overthrow Arthur's rule and re-erect the Old Religion.

Brought to a white heat, Arthur stripped the clergyman of all his worldly and clerical offices without so much as thinking of consulting with the rest of the clergy. Severinus was arrested on the spot.

It took the Bishop a while to realize that, other than he had thought, no spontaneous rebellion of the most Christian people of Albion came to his aid.

He was devastated when Malcolm Branguard visited him in his cell and told him, with obvious relief and triumph, that there were many examples in history for a King's well founded wrath being much more consistent and longer-lasting than the common men's memory. And that even the most pious nobles had more to gain from a reconciled King than from a quarrel about religious or legal technicalities.

Arthur and the Branguards had found a way to hush things up. It would be expensive, but it would work. A new Bishop would be appointed soon, and the old one, safely tucked away in his cell, would soon be forgotten.

It was the one thing Severinus, fighting the just cause, could not and would not endure.

The Bishop set his eyes on martyrdom. He demanded – and got – an audience with the King. Willingly, indeed eagerly, concealing only the involvement of Lancelot du Lac, he confessed his part in the murder of Gwendolyn, High Queen of Albion and her entourage.

Two days later it was Sir Leon himself who put the noose around Severinus' neck and opened the floor beneath his feet.

Together with the Bishop's neck broke the peace in Albion.

Guinivere, in her convent, was appalled by the news she got only much belated, and from tittle-tattle or other hear-say. At least until Elyan returned and gave her a first-hand account of events in Camelot. "You can't stay here, sister" Elyan said at last. "You and Galahad are too tempting a target for many a rascal who sees his chance. Arthur wants you both in Camelot."

"But that is impossible…."

"Look, I know it won't be pleasant, but there's nothing for it. Arthur can no longer hide Galahad's true nature from the world. As soon as people have seen the two boys, Malcolm's and yours, side by side, the resistance against the act of succession will cease. You and Arthur renew your marriage, and everyone is happy. It's what we should have done years ago. Now, where's Galahad?"

"I sent for him two days ago, he's here, …but…"

"No buts and ifs, sister, we must hurry. Get ready."

All the way Elyan was tensed, hearing and seeing dangers that weren't there. When they first sighted the Camelot battlements from afar, he heaped a sigh of utter relief.

"We're almost there, Gwen" he said to his sister. "About time, too."

Elyan smiled at his nephew. As always, Galahad hung more than sat in the saddle of his mount, like a wet sack. Sensing his uncle's emotions, he gave Elyan a lopsided grin. "I'm glad" he said in his usual funny manner, a result of his belatedly developed ability to hear and speak. "Don't like horses much."

"That much is certain" Elyan laughed loudly. "But your father will be happy to see you on horseback."

Galahad's smile became more radiant. "You think so, Uncle?" he asked eagerly. "Father will be pleased?"

"Of course he will. Remember how long he stayed when he last visited you? You were inseparable, the two of you, were you not?"

"Ye..e..s" Galahad replied happily. Perhaps this arduous trip was worth the trouble after all.

He hardly remembered the last time he had been with both his parents for more than two or three days. And he was twelve years old now, sure there were many things his father could teach him now, things of which so far Arthur had always said "_later. When you're a bit older, Galahad_."

And, as his mother had told him, he had a brother now waiting for him in Camelot, of the same age. This boy would once become King, and about that, Galahad was extremely happy.

Galahad loved his books, and his friends at the convent, and his parents, and all of their friends, but the thought of becoming King one day had always terrified him. His eyes weren't very sharp, and his hearing wasn't acute, but his thinking was as sharp as a newly forged blade.

A Prince's inability to take part in boyhood games had helped is quite a teacher in a way. The other boys had been lenient with him to his face. That was because his father was the King, and his mother a Queen. But they had also been giggling and whispering among themselves when they thought he wasn't aware of it. That was because he would never be a knight, never be a warrior, and therefore, he could never become a King like his father.

Galahad's books were his best and closest friends. He would one day become a fine scholar, he knew that, one of the best even. He also knew that he would make the most miserable King in all of Camelot's history.

So, as far as he was concerned, three cheers for the other boy who would take the burden off his meagre and somewhat disfigured shoulders.

In an even better mood than before, Galahad sat more upright on his steed and admired the landscape, as far as he could see it. Luckily Gaius had, shortly before his death, taught one of the monks in Galahad's convent the secrets of making spectacles.

At the thought of the old Court Healer, Galahad felt a pang of misery. He didn't remember too much about Gaius and Alice, as he had been quite young; and away from Camelot at the time of their deaths. But the memories he _did_ have were fond ones. Especially as the two old people had had a singular talent for putting Arthur into a good mood. Galahad remembered how happy Arthur had been about any progress his son had made; progress that the two healers had made possible.

"Mama" Galahad suddenly said to Guinivere "Do you think I could ….."

But Guinivere would never know what had come to her son's mind in that instant.

A bunch of men broke from the brushwood in that very moment, screaming and howling like creatures let loose from hell. Galahad's mare, uncomfortable with her unaccomplished rider as it was, panicked at once.

The boy yelped in fear when the animal turned and sped away, right through the four guard men who rode behind him.

"Galla" screamed Guinivere, and spurred her own, nervous horse to pursue her son's bolting mount.

Galahad was by now stuck in the melee of horses and men, in danger of being thrown under the stamping hooves every second.

Desperately Guinivere tried to get to him. Solely focussed on saving her child she didn't flinch when someone at her side drew his sword and fought the two nearest guard soldiers off by cutting their horses down. When the two wretched animals fell, with their throats slid, they caused even more havoc in the crowded space, but for a precious moment, Galahad was in Guinivere's reach. As his mare broke down on her hind legs, she grabbed her son, and pulled him unto her own saddle.

She had only ears and eyes for her awkward struggle to keep the terrified boy in her arms. When the knight who'd come to her aid took her bridle and dragged her horse away from the turmoil, she thought nothing of it but that it was the only suitable course of action.

It was not before they had made it safely away from the fighting crowd that Guinivere shouted at the man for a halt. The knight, in plain armour and without a crest, increased their speed instead of heeding her command.

"Stop" she screamed commandingly. "At once!" For all her confident behaviour, she was more than glad when the knight finally grinded both horses to a halt, albeit only because they'd come to another bunch of men who blocked the narrow road.

"Who are you?" she demanded to know, breathless from the struggle. Galahad clung to his mother for dear life, still panting and speechless.

The knight opened his visor and talked rapidly.

However, Guinivere did not care for what he said; she only cared for who he was. She grabbed her hanging bridle, and tried to turn her horse, away from these men, away from _him_.

She did not make it very far.

But even so, the six men had their hands full when they dragged mother and son off the horse. As Guinivere managed to pull her dagger, two men regretted taking part in this expedition for the rest of their lives.

As the others did their best to wrestle her down, she once more saw the knight's fearful face. "Arthur will have your head for this!" she shouted. "You are a dead man, Lancelot du Lac, a dead man!"

Lancelot looked away when they pressed a wet, sharp smelling cloth on her face and she finally lost consciousness. He was trembling. Whenever he had imagined their reunion during all these lost years of his life, it had been passionate, loving, and warm.

Nothing in his dreams had prepared him for this day.

With an effort, he turned to the boy who was held by two of the bulky brutes Erec had dispatched for this enterprise.

"Galahad" Lance said hoarsely. "Don't be afraid. All will be well…."

It was the first time ever that Lancelot had a good long look at the boy he thought to be his only child.

Galahad was tall for his age, but lean, almost gaunt. He screwed up his eyes the way very short sighted people use to do. His spectacles, or what was left of them, were tangled up in the shreds of his neckerchief. He tried to say something, but stumbled over the syllables, until he stammered pitiably and finally fell silent.

Lancelot's throat tightened, and his stomach cramped. What on earth had these people been doing to his son? Not even Arthur would …. not to a helpless child, anyway ….

Briefly he remembered what he had once heard about Galahad.

But surely that had been a bunch of lies, Pendragon, or rather Branguard, propaganda.

His son had been born perfect.

And it had been this same perfection that had driven his enemies to hurting him, deforming him, so that he could pose no danger to their plans.

Du Lac's gaze brushed over Guinivere's limp form with an emotion bordering on hatred. How could she have allowed such a monstrosity to happen? She was the boy's _mother_, for God's sake.

Slowly, sadly, Lancelot raised his hand to stroke the boy's cheek. He would make his son better, he promised himself, no matter what the cost, somehow he would….

The Baron screamed in pain and stared at his bleeding hand in utter disbelief.

Galahad felt like crying at the sight of his mother, but nevertheless he tried to stare the man down whose hand he had just bitten as hard as he possibly could. With all the strength and wrath he could muster, he glared at his captor's gobsmacked face. "I am the High King's son, and my father will skin you alive" he finally managed to get out, and to his profound satisfaction, he spoke strongly, without stammering.

"Yep" one of the mercenaries said when he took a piece of rope from his saddle and tied the cheeky, struggling brat up for safer transport. "Does his old man proud. That's Pendragon bravado for you, an' no mistake!"


	27. Purgatory

**27. Purgatory**

Arthur read the letter twice before he crumpled it in his fist and threw it into the fire. "I take it your master wants my answer at once?" he asked the man in the dust-covered uniform with the crest of the du Lacs.

"That is so, My Lord."

"Then tell your Lord I am to meet him, as he wishes, in any place and at any time he chooses. Alone. But a_fter_ tomorrow's battle." Only to himself Arthur added "_if I'm still alive at the time_."

The messenger bowed silently and went away, as secretly as he had come to deliver Lancelot's challenge. A duel to the death, just the two of them.

The winner takes it all.

Arthur knew not whether to laugh or to cry about it. So very brave, so honourable – so childish and archaic. Two men, one woman, and a fight for her hand.

Did Lance even know if he was living in the real world or in a fairy tale?

From the outside Arthur heard the noise of an encampment getting ready for battle. Any moment now Leon, Percival and the others would show up for a last briefing.

The King could hardly believe that it had been not more than 10 months since Guinivere and Galahad had been abducted.

Shortly thereafter Angus Branguard, putting bygones behind him when more urgent peril arose, had sent the first urgent reports. Rumour had it that Saxon troops had made their landfall near Lancelot's Barony. That Erec had returned from exile to lead the marauding soldiery who quickly laid waste to the outskirts of Camelot, to Mercia and other parts of Albion that took their time getting ready to fight a surprise attack after more than a decade of peace and prosperity.

If Arthur had nourished any hopes that Angus' reports exaggerated the scope of the danger, he was quickly disabused when it became obvious that the combined Saxon-Gaulish forces were met by some of the Albion nobles, whose professed goal was to fight for their King, his Queen and lawful heir.

After only six weeks, Camelot had to face the fact that the whole north of Albion was in open rebellion against the High King's regime.

Since then Arthur found himself in the absurd situation of fighting the rebels at every corner of his Kingdom while these same rebels claimed most piously that their enemy were the Branguards, who allegedly had taken King Arthur Pendragon hostage. So that the most noble and honourable Baron du Lac had had no other choice but to take the Queen and the lawful Crown Prince of Camelot under his protection.

How very unfortunate that the Queen's brother had lost his life during Lancelot's brave and selfless action.

Arthur closed his fist when he remembered Elyan's horrible agony. The thought how Guinivere must feel about her younger brother's senseless death drove him mad.

Perhaps Lancelot had been merciful enough to keep it from her. Arthur desperately hoped that his one-time friend had not yet been stripped of all common humanity and decency.

Although the High King had reason to doubt that.

In what was arguably the most effective mockery of all times Erec used a finely tuned blend of hypocrisy, slimy language and pompous public appearances to issue decrees and new laws, "_in defence of the law, the crown and the Christian faith_" as he phrased it. Lancelot du Lac, under name and seal of the Queen as regent for her son in his minority, ratified everything Erec said or did.

At the same time, Arthur's orders were denounced as being issued under duress, the useless utterances of a helpless prisoner at the Branguards' mercy.

It was, albeit with some roles reversed, the situation Arthur had dreaded and – if just barely – avoided the day he had pulled Excalibur from the stone.

True enough, he had thought all was lost back then, and still he had been victorious in the end. But then, he had not done it alone. Morgana had been there. And Merlin.

How angry the proud Pendragon King had been when he had found out that they had used their magic for cheating. That they had smoothed his path to the throne on every turn, every step of his way.

And what he would give if they were here now, to do the same again.

Sometimes Arthur missed his sister so much that it hurt. But most of all he missed the unruly mop of black hair, the cheeky smile and the outrageous insults of his former manservant.

_Clotpole_. _Prat_. _Dimwit, supercilious idiot_.

There were hours, days even, when Arthur felt he should just turn around, just walk a few steps more, and he would see him, laughing, offering some foolish word of advice, some stupid idea that would somehow, miraculously bring about the great solution, just like that. By sheer, idiotic innocence of thought, by an idea nobody else could ever have.

But it never happened.

Merlin was gone and with him the world he had created for himself and for his friends.

Arthur had been left behind in cruel, cold reality.

In this reality, miracles did not occur.

Today, more than one man, more than one city or liegemen got confused by Erec's propaganda. And more than one noble made the obvious choice – to stay neutral until the victor emerged. To him, may his name be Pendragon, Branguard or du Lac, they would bend their knee.

_After_ the dust had settled.

The winner takes it all.

How very unfortunate that the loser was already obvious – the peasants, the countrymen, townsfolk and merchants as well as anybody else who bore the brunt of the Saxon and Gaulish pillaging, looting and raping.

The mercenaries Erec and Lancelot had hired to do their dirty work for them while they kept their oh so very Christian hands lilywhite and clean, lived of the land they tormented. Harvests were spoilt, whole villages murdered, the roads were no longer safe and foreign traders avoided Albion's ports.

10 months of bloodshed, of mindless destruction, and already Arthur could watch the day that would see his country on its knees dawn on the horizon.

Now, at long last, his and the Branguards' untiring efforts paid off. Here, at Badon Hill, Arthur's troops, held together, as he sometimes thought, by nothing but hope, unfounded faith, childish enthusiasm and a not altogether healthy desire for revenge, had come upon their enemy.

Erec and his troops were cornered, with an impassable mountain ridge in deepest winter in their back and a ransacked, exhausted swampy wasteland all around them.

It was open field battle or surrender, without any other options for any of the two armies.

"Sire?" Leon asked on entering the tent. As always, he was the first. Punctuality and accuracy on two legs.

Arthur sighed, turned – and was stunned for a second.

Leon had the first sunrays in his back, and on parts of his face. The merciless light revealed what Arthur had so far not noticed. Or rather, what he had ignored. The deep wrinkles, the sallow lips and skin. The grey hairs. The determined but unsettling fanatic eyes.

The burial of his family had turned Sir Leon into an old, bitter man who loved no one.

"I verified our intelligence reports of last night" Leon now said, all business, without waiting for his King's reply. "And I say, we've got them, even though they outnumber us two to one. If we can attack the enemy in both flanks, their superior number will be a disadvantage for them, not for us. See here ….."

The other commanders agreed with everything that was said, and Arthur deliberately let himself fall into the familiar, time-honoured ritual of once more going through the plan, step by step, until anyone was satisfied.

No plan had ever survived its first encounter with reality in one piece, but the general idea was given and agreed upon, and Arthur trusted that his men would know what to do when the time came.

The next hour found the High King's army, and himself, ready for the enemy and whatever they would do.

At first, they did nothing at all.

The two armies stood face to face, each waiting for the other to open hostilities.

The overwhelming number of Erec's troops was scaring. Archers were hardly among them, as Arthur knew for a certainty, but they had a vast number of armoured horsemen at their disposal, and the lines of Saxon and Gaulish warriors on foot seemed to reach the horizon.

Used to winning they were, grown fat and strong on the spoils of their plundering the country, well-armed, well fed and hell-bent on keeping what they had already won.

Silently Arthur asked himself if he was crazy, to even try and fight such an opponent.

"It's getting late, My Lord" Leon said at long last, clearly nervous. "Sun's getting high. If we want to …."

"You're right" Arthur interrupted him. "We cannot wait for Erec to make up his mind." He raised his arm to signal his troops to advance, when he suddenly saw Erec's cavalry begin its charge.

It was a classic strategy. The Pendragon infantry consisted mainly of commoners or mere knights. But for the Branguards and their liegemen, the most powerful nobles of Albion had either stayed at home or joined the ranks of the enemy. None of them doubted that the ragtag bunch of misguided peasants Arthur called his army would run at first sight of the superior mounted power.

So, with every confidence in their own strength, Erec's cavalry charged recklessly, all lines at once, at top speed.

"Heavens, I don't believe it" Leon said loudly. "They have no clue!"

Arthur himself did not believe that it would be that easy until he saw many of the enemy knights slow down, slip, come to a complete disarray and finally to a halt.

"The ground must be _soaked_ with water, Sire" Percival said in what for him was a rare fit of volubility. "Our men made a perfect job of diverting these rivulets. I can't believe they did not see the water sparkle underneath the grass. In _that_ light!"

"Tell our archers to fire" Arthur said with more calm than he felt and soon Erec's troops, caught between the horsemen in full rout and the clueless deployments in their backs, were showered with arrows.

Arthur waited in dreadful suspense for Erec to make the one, decisive mistake without which the Camelot men had no chance for victory, or even survival. The whole battle plan was founded on two assumptions: That the Saxon mercenaries, used more to quick hit-and-run attacks at badly defended settlements or impromptu, unorganised fights with pursuing enemies than to ordered, disciplined battle in the lines, would lose their nerves whilst standing still under constant fire. And that Erec, faced with the threat of being pressed against the unyielding mountain ridge by his own, retreating troops, would try and take the bull by the horns.

By now those of Erec's horsemen who had managed to stay in the saddle and keep their horses going reached Arthur's first lines of defence. Pendragon saw his men engage the enemy and he fought the almost irresistible urge to rush to their side and join their struggle. But it was too early for that.

After long minutes of fierce fighting – to Arthur they seemed like an eternity – the Camelot defenders began a retreat that to the, until now, rather distraught enemies looked like a heaven-sent. Cheering loudly, they renewed their attack, and the Camelotians fell back even further.

Little did the combined forces of Saxon, Gaulish and Albion knights realize that they opened a gap behind them; a gap between their backs and the swamp that had cost most of their comrades any chance to follow them. Wider and wider the gap opened, as the lines of the Camelot cavalry, pitiably thin from the start, fell back in apparent exhaustion, their resistance more and more slackening.

"_Now_!" Arthur said, who saw his men falling like grass on a mowed meadow, and the very same instant a horn signal called the rest of the Camelot cavalry, so far hidden from sight by the tree lines and some minor hills that flanked the battlefield, into the fight.

"I told you so, Sire" Leon said with grim satisfaction. "For weeks the riff-raff have been putting fire to the wretched farmhouses, stealing anything there was to steal. And not once Erec has used their experiences and asked them about the terrain. Overconfidence, the malaise of so many upstart would-be commanders!"

"Let's not count our chickens before they're hatched" was all what Arthur replied. The strategy was mainly his brainchild, and perhaps that was why he refused to believe in its success. Never ever, not drunk, not sober, he would have blundered as Erec quite obviously had. Such ignorance was unimaginable.

But there it was, in plain sight; Erec's cavalry never stood a chance as the fresh Pendragon deployments came from both sides and fell on their backs. Most of them died during the first minutes of the violent onslaught, and their fall maddened their stuck, helpless comrades completely. What so far had held out, whilst the leaders tried to reorganize their men, now fled backwards, at top speed, headless, in full panic, with no head for the damage they did to Erec's battle-lines.

"Regroup our own horsemen for an organized retreat." Arthur snapped. "We may need them later on."

However, he had no eye for the cavalry deployments once Leon had passed on the order. His sole attention was focussed on Erec's centre, which so far had had no part in the battle except for being massed-together, by the merciless archer fire from both sides as well as by the first lines pushing back in total disarray.

Arthur trembled slightly from pure suspense. All depended on Erec's reaction now. If he had the nerve, and the authority, to stop the first lines' retreat, to reassemble his infantry for a parallel assault on the Pendragon archers who by now must be running low on arrows, and on strength, all might yet be lost.

For long, torturing minutes, everything hung in the balance.

Erec's centre flowed to and fro, someone was visibly trying to reorganize the lines, and Arthur's throat grew tight when he found his own archers' fire growing thinner and less frequent. Any moment now Erec's flanks might regain their senses and give room to the centre troops, which were by now pressed into a compact mass, without any space for manoeuvring.

Loud howling and screaming from the other army dissolved Arthur's worries once and for all. For more than an hour the Saxons, time-seasoned pirates, mercenaries and marauders, brave to distraction but with as much patience and cold-blood as a herd of thoroughbred stallions with fires under their tails, had stood almost motionless while around them, and between them, their friends and comrades fell under the arrows that continued to fall from heaven, sent by an invisible enemy too cowardly to show their faces.

The proud, arrogant horsemen who only last night had bragged about their superiority and noble birth, were good for nothing, for all eyes to see. The brunt of them had by now passed the Saxon lines, trampling their own allies down in their haste and fear to get back to safety.

The Saxons had no doubt that by nightfall many of the supercilious nobles would crawl back to that blond, valiant King of theirs, begging for forgiveness, pledging their loyalty, spelling all the beans they had to spell about Lord Erec's further plans.

They could do that, they had their roots in Albion. They had cousins, friends or former comrades in Arthur's lines. People who would, for some old obligation or the other, speak up for them. Blood is thicker than water.

The Gaulish had their ships waiting for them. If they made it that far, they had a country to return to.

The Saxons, however, had nothing of the kind.

For them, defeat meant escape through the length and breadth of a country that blamed its misery on them. Leaving all that had been won or robbed behind for speed. Those who would survive a retreat under constant fire would go home to their families empty handed, and they couldn't afford that.

War was business, and business was war. All their leaders had they'd spent on their ships and equipment.

His jaw hanging low, his eyes widened, Erec watched one Saxon deployment after the other rush forward, in a wild bunch, with no strategy but the wish to engage the enemy and slay him wherever they could find him.

The soldiers from Gaul and Albion foot-fighters were either drawn into the melee or had the good sense to turn and make a run for it, as by now Arthur's regrouped horsemen, the whole damned lot of them, made ready to take the first brunt of the Saxon assault, while the infantry in their backs; fresh, mostly rested as they were, got ready too.

Before Erec's very eyes, his whole centre dissolved in perfect helter-skelter. In vain he tried to safe at least his cavalry. In the end, when he saw Arthur's horsemen slaughter the Saxon foot-fighters, he assembled his few remaining officers, and escaped the scene of his defeat. He didn't stop until he had reached the safety of Lancelot's stronghold, and had the drawbridge pulled up behind him.

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, strategy and tactics had lost their right on all sides.

Arthur and Percival were fighting back to back, as much as all the others who were still standing.

In a nightmare of blood, screams, dirt and mindless cruelty, they lost all sense of time or space. Their world was reduced to a series of attacking shadows, stabbing and cutting and beating in quick succession, until the one vanished, only to be substituted by another one, and another, and another.

Somewhere in the back of Arthur's mind he knew that it could not be as he sensed it, that the original vastly superior hostile forces had been very much reduced in number. Otherwise he would have died hours ago.

But it did not feel that way. It felt as if the gruesome sequence of slaying and striking would never end.

Excalibur did one more thing to support that surreal impression. Arthur didn't really feel the strain of the fight; it was as if the blade fought without him, as if the weapon had a will of its own. Since the actual fighting had begun, he was sure, without really knowing it, that no enemy would hit him; that he wouldn't be hurt, no matter what happened to him.

When someone grabbed him from behind, Arthur raised his blade and brought it down again in one fierce strike that aimed for the other's abdomen. A brutal move, but one suitable to finish an enemy off with one hit alone.

Somebody screamed his name; the assailant jumped back and Arthur missed by a hair's breadth. Panting heavily, he shook his head, searching for the enemy.

"Arthur, stop" a voice yelled. "It's over. Y'hear me? It's over. The day is yours. You've won."

Arthur barely recognized Leon in the blood and dirt smeared figure that wrestled Excalibur from his suddenly powerless fingers. "Won?" he stammered confusedly. "Won what?"

He looked around him and he saw nothing that looked like glory or triumph.

He saw a slaughterhouse.


	28. Lost dreams

**28. Lost dreams **

"No rest for the wicked" Angus joked clumsily, but tonight even his poor gift for jesting brought a smile to Arthur's face.

After this day's victory, nothing could destroy the King's good humour.

Not even the fact that Leon's earlier declaration that "_it was over_" had to be taken with a big grain of salt.

When the battle was won, the victor's work would just begin.

Prisoners had to be taken care of, the lists of dead and wounded soldiers had to be acknowledged, the whereabouts of the scattered enemy troops had to be ascertained, and so on and so on and so on.

It was not before the deep of night that Arthur fell on his bed, closed his eyes, and was out as a light.

He rarely slept so soundly outside the security of the citadel, but the combination of exhaustion and the confidence that everything was, for once, well in hand and settled, ousted his usual caution.

His last conscious thought went to Guinivere and the boy. After today's crushing defeat, Lancelot and Erec would have no choice but to release their prisoners, of that Arthur was absolutely sure.

For the first time in many a month, he was without worries.

He wasn't the only one in the Camelot encampment who felt that way. Unnoticed to anyone, the vertiginous joy of success led to an air of carelessness. The guards, soldiers, even Leon and the knights had been tested to their limits, and now, when it fell off, the strain finally took its toll.

It was for that reason alone that a hooded figure, sneaking furtively from cover to cover, from shadow to shadow like a ghost, could make it into the royal tent unseen.

As it was, the uninvited visitor had to shake Arthur's shoulder to rouse him.

This one time, the King did not dart off his bed at the slightest disturbance, but he woke slowly, grudgingly.

When Arthur finally realized that something was wrong, it was too late for any kind of resistance. He grabbed the hand that pressed down on his mouth by the wrist to push it away, but the sharp blade pressed at his throat stopped him.

"Hold still" the stranger hissed urgently. "For God's sake, Arthur, I came to talk to you, nothing else!"

The man pulled down the hood of his coat and in the light of the one remaining candle Arthur did not trust his eyes when he recognized the face of Lancelot du Lac.

"Be quiet" Lancelot repeated. "Please. I mean you no harm." Reluctantly he took his hand off Arthur's face.

"You could take the knife away, too" Arthur whispered. "It would be more convincing."

"Are you willing to talk?" Lancelot asked back, in the same low tone. "About my family?"

"That's odd" Arthur retorted, holding the other's intent gaze. "I thought it is my family!"

With a deep sigh, Lancelot sheathed his blade, and stepped back, allowing Arthur to sit up. If the King wanted to attack him, or scream for help, he was free to do so now.

Instead Pendragon crossed his legs and looked at his visitor questioningly. "I take it you and your bosom-friend Erec are having some domestics?"

"That's one way to put it" Lancelot said. He looked worn out, tired and beaten. "You could also say I'm an idiot. I've made a fool of myself."

"I could have told you so before. I did, actually. You never listened."

"And we both know why. You'd got everything I ever wanted. I'm not talking about your Crown or property. I loved Guinivere when you still were too much of a coward to admit your feelings, even to yourself. And Galahad is _my_ son, we both know that."

"Then why aren't the three of you blissfully happy, sailing into the sunset to some paradise forlorn? What brings you here, my gallant Lord?"

"I need your help. What else could it be? Gwen and the boy are no longer safe with me. I've chosen the wrong friends and I will not let them endanger the two last people dear to me on this earth."

"Baron du Lac, you should have spared yourself the trouble. We'll be in front of your castle gates the day after tomorrow. Just send my wife and son out to me then, and we can talk about anything else later."

"You do not understand…"

"Oh, but I do. Erec came back with his tail between his legs and you got scared shitless. Now you're crawling back to me to save your worthless skin, and as it isn't very probable that I will be fool enough to take you back, you are trying to earn my trust by some made-up coat-and-dagger game."

Lancelot combed his five fingers through his hair before he replied "this isn't about you and me anymore. I've lost everything, beyond recovery, I know that. But I implore you, you _must_ believe me that I never meant any harm to my love or our son. The Black Duke is blaming all that went wrong on Guinivere. He's going to kill her and Galahad under a charge of sorcery."

Arthur winced violently. But Lancelot had lied through his teeth in the past, so very often…. "Spare me the cock-and-bull story" Pendragon therefore said angrily. "Erec is much too clever to harm them. They're his only bargaining chips. And a Black Duke, goodness gracious me! Every court minstrel apprentice could think of something more convincing."

"Erec has no say in the matter. He's dependent on the Gaulish Duke, now that we're beaten. I'm no longer in control of my own men, or of my castle. The Gaulish are in command; together with the two complete deployments of Saxons the Duke kept with him, with their leaders Hengist and Horsa hanging on his every word.

"You can hardly expect me to believe anything of this nonsense …."

"For God's sake, Arthur, this is Guinivere's _life_ we're talking about. Can't you get that into this thick head of yours? What do you want me to do, kneel to you, cry, beg, surrender to your men? You tell me, I do it. But you _must_ believe me!"

Arthur leaned back against the tent post with an indifference mostly feigned. "So what is the big plan, eh? I forgive you, I grant you your life and suddenly the big black monster is gone or what?"

"You grant Erec his life and a safe passage to wherever he wants, with all the possessions he's taking with him. In exchange for that, you can take Guinivere and Galahad with you, today if you want. With me, you can do whatever you want, I do no longer care."

"All right" Arthur said whilst rising. "Fine. As I said, we'll reach you castle soon enough, then we can put that all in writing. I wish you a good night."

"Erec wants to hear it from your own mouth. Or else…."

"Or else what?"

"Or else he'll not hinder the Black Duke when he comes for Gwen and the boy."

"So it is tonight or never, yes? And naturally I would have to come alone, unarmed, as you demanded in your challenge to me. Well and good, I told your messenger I'd accept your challenge. But in public, before witnesses, under the knights' code. I'll not go with you like a lamb to the butcher."

Lancelot closed his eyes in despair. "I know you have little reason to trust me" he said with forced calm. "There's no friendship lost between you and me that wasn't lost more than a decade ago."

Pendragon flinched when the other suddenly fell to his knees and took both of the King's hands in his. "Arthur, I swear to you by all that's ever been sacred to me, if you will not come with me tonight, to grant Erec's terms, she'll die. I beg you, with all my heart. You _know _me. Would I do this to myself if it wasn't for her and my son?"

"You mean, would you bow to a fraudster, a mean, base liar who cheated himself unto his father's throne? Wasn't that the opinion you had when you kneeled to me, when you kissed my hand to get the Barony I gave to you, the heiress I laid into your bed, the titles, lands and fortunes I bestowed on you? Where was your pride back then, My Lord Lancelot?" Arthur's throat was raw and sore; it was only partly because they were still whispering, hissing at each other like enraged snakes. He had once considered this man a true, close friend. He had once trusted Guinivere unconditionally, and even after all those years, their betrayal hurt like hell. "And now you're willing to give up the love of your life, and the child of this love, to _me_?"

Lancelot licked his dry lips before he replied with all the vigour he could summon "_y__ou_ were once willing to give them up, Arthur. You ordered me to keep Guinivere and the boy safe, although it almost strangled you. You swallowed _your_ pride for her, in the night your daughter died. If you could do as much for guinivere, can I not do the same? I degraded myself for money, should I not do the same for _her_?"

Arthur jumped to his feet and pushed the other back, who fell on his backside. Lancelot was half sprawled on the ground, shaking, with a face reddened by tears.

Against his will, Arthur was touched by the disgraceful sight. The man wouldn't have brought himself so low, just to save his neck. Lancelot was many things, but he wasn't a coward. Erec, on the other hand …. When one came to think of it, what was the worst that could happen? There was Excalibur, the sword would not let him down, not in a battle, not in an ambush. And, after all, they were beaten. Their backs against the wall. Exile in Gaul would mean bitter bread, and not too much of that, now, that they had nothing left to offer to the Gaulish nobles. No prospects, no hopes – Erec and Lance would be the laughing stock of every court that took them in.

Many Gaulish were known fanatics of the Christian faith, it wasn't beneath them to vent their anger on a helpless woman and her child if it meant averting blame and shame from themselves.

"Do you give me your word" Arthur said hesitatingly "your solemn word that what you're telling me is nothing but the truth?"

"I swear it" Lance retorted feverishly. "Upon my immortal soul, I swear it."

"That is between you and the God you say you believe in. As for me, if you're lying, there will be nothing immortal about you. Let's go."

To Arthur's secret dismay it did not cost them more effort to get away unseen than it had cost Lancelot to get in unnoticed. It wasn't exactly a feather in the cap of Camelot's army.

The King was still fretting a bit, unimportant as it seemed compared to the night's real business, when they came to the two horses Lancelot had hidden in safe distance to the Camelot men. What was more, slowly but surely Pendragon had pangs of conscience as he considered what Leon and the others should feel when they could not find him in the morning.

What had seemed quite logical and self-evident during the ghostly exchange in the flickering candlelight seemed crazier with every passing minute as soon as the fresh night air cleared his head.

On the spur of the moment Arthur had taken it for granted that his men would carry on as planned, take one day for resting and then march on to Erec's present hideaway. Now Pendragon asked himself if he was off his rocker. Not only would Leon and the Branguards be frantic about his disappearance, they would not budge an inch until they knew what had become of him and where to find him.

The sooner this mad trip through the night came to an end, the better it would be.

Du Lac took a few turns and detours to avoid detection, but, to Arthur's profound relief, even so two men on horseback reached the castle much sooner than expected. The first rays of sunlight were just climbing over the horizon when Lancelot led him to a small door in the outer wall that once might have been the entrance to a Lady's garden or something. Now it was iron shod and doubtlessly heavily barred from the inside.

At least it looked as if it were. But when Lancelot knocked softly against the wood, it opened at once, and a withered, unbelievably ugly old man appeared in the frame. Arthur thought that he had seen this face before, but he could not place the memory.

"Jeffrey?" Lance asked in obvious surprise. "Where's Erec?"

"In the pavilion, My Lord" the man answered. "We did not know when you would be back and Lord Erec thought it best not to wait with the woman and child in the open. We've got some early birds among the servants, yes, yes, early birds." He chuckled good-humouredly. "If we would alarm the Gaulish, we'd all be done for, would we not."

Impatiently, Arthur punched Lancelot in the back. Du Lac winced and snapped at the old servant. "Let's get on with it then."

At once the old man gave way, and the two knights swept past him. Jeffrey bowed deeply to Arthur, who barely noticed it. Lancelot walked briskly to where a roof peeped out of the treetops of a well-kept orchard, Arthur in his wake.

"You said Erec is coming too?" Arthur whispered. He was all tensed up, the thought of seeing Guinivere and Galahad made him giddy with joy; at the same time he was apprehensive of encountering the traitor and of the ride back with a man he hated and loathed.

"There are fresh mounts for the three of you" Lance muttered back. "You can take Galahad on your horse. I'll stay behind."

"_What_?"

"Someone has to put off the Black Duke until you've made it back to your men."

"But….."

"Shut up! This once Your Royal Majesty will do as I say, and there's an end to it."

Arthur shut his mouth. He wasn't too proud of it, but the idea that Lancelot would never trouble him again after today didn't make him exactly sad. Let the wretched fool have his last moment of bravery before he met his maker.

They reached the pavilion, and in the same instant, Arthur cast off all second thoughts and doubts.

With a stifled yelp, Guinivere flew into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and nothing, nothing at all, was important anymore.

A year. A whole year since Arthur had last seen her, last felt her body next to his!

Galahad, untroubled by the fact that his father's shoulders were already taken, found Arthur's hips a very suitable place for hugging, too.

"We don't have time for this nonsense!" That was Erec, a very nervous Erec. "Your word that I will have safe passage out of Camelot once we've reached your army, Sire!"

"You have it" Arthur said, who would have promised anything to anyone right now; the stars from the sky to a half dead leper, had he asked for them.

"Let's get out of here" the other said, and ran ahead to lead the way.

Pendragon was the last one to pass du Lac who stood aside with hanging arms; neither Guinivere nor Galahad had given him a word or at least a look of farewell.

Arthur hesitated, not even he himself knew why. "Lance…." he said.

"Get lost!" the Baron answered, and, when Arthur still lingered, he repeated it despairingly. "Get out of my sight. I could not live honourably; at least I can die the knight I wanted to be."

Arthur nodded and ran after the others. It was idiotic, but his eyes stung. How, from where Lance had once started, could the man ever have reached this point of no return?

A life that had begun with so much hope had been entirely wasted.

Yet even these thoughts vaporised when they had made it out of the castle, into the woods, where, as promised, three fresh horses were tethered to a tree, ready to speed off.

Erec fastened the two big, heavy saddle bags which presumably contained all his earthly belongings – and Arthur didn't doubt that these belongings were worth a King's ransom in nice, easily movable items – to the saddle of his mount, and leaped on the horse's back.

Arthur couldn't help himself, he grinned when he was about to mount his own mare behind Galahad, after he'd helped Guinivere into the saddle.

My, my His Lordship _was_ a trifle afraid for his precious life.

Erec's hands twitched and fumbled with the bridle, his face was strained and as white as chalk.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, now himself impatient to get away.

Erec opened his mouth, but he couldn't say anything. Slowly, as limp as a rag doll, he slid off the horseback.

By then, Arthur stared uncomprehendingly at the small, dark bolt that stuck out of his hand. He felt no pain at all, but he was dizzy. His skin prickled, then it became numb.

As his eyes closed, he spotted the Saxon's soldier's grinning face between the bushes, the blowgun still in his raised hand.

**A/N: Sorry, guys, I posted the wrong version earlier.**


	29. Hell Fire

**29. Hell fire**

Arthur woke when something wet and sticky kept dripping on his cheek.

He brushed it off and his fingers came back red. Confused, he looked up - and jumped to his feet with a scream.

The man on the plank bed was still warm, the blood still dripping from his throat. But there was no doubt that Erec was dead.

"Gods" Arthur breathed as he shrank back from the corpse until the iron bars in his back stopped him.

"Good to see the old Gods have not been forgotten by everyone in Camelot" somebody said, and Arthur darted round. Something stirred in the shadows in front of the cell, but the captive couldn't make out who it was until the man stepped into the light of a torch.

Jeffrey wagged a finger. "You better keep your real beliefs to yourself when you meet the Black Duke. You will, eventually."

"Tell me what has happened" Arthur ordered sharply.

"Everybody sold out anybody to everybody" Jeffrey said. "Erec was too smart for his own good, I had the last laugh, and Lancelot was the only honest fool in this game. One isn't enough to make a honest game."

"Where is my family?" Arthur repeated, the knuckles that grabbed the bars standing out white.

"That is not my business. I've got my pound of flesh. Or rather, my pound of steel and scabbard."

Jeffrey looked pointedly at the prisoner's hip, and reflexively, Arthur's hand reached for his sword belt.

Naturally, it wasn't there.

"Yes, it's only too true" the old man said, insincere remorse laid on with a trowel. "The blade is bewitched. Our most august Duke didn't dare to touch it, and the Saxons had the fright of their lives, poor buggers, when it charred their hands like glowing coal. But I asked a girl to sheath it and wrap it up. Unlike warriors' hands and gloves, kitchen maids and towels hardly ever take a human life, you see?"

Arthur's frown was ample proof that he had no idea what the other was talking about. Since Merlin's disappearance, all servants and squires were forbidden to touch Excalibur. Nobody had ever told Arthur what the blade did to those who couldn't withstand temptation.

The old clerk looked him over with narrowed eyes. "You never knew" he stated. "You wielded the blade, but you never even guessed its true powers."

"Forget about the sword. Tell me what has happened to my family!"

"Believe it or not, I'd pity you, had I not more important things to think of. I came to take my leave, Sire. But first – look at me. Very carefully."

Arthur reminded himself that so far this peculiar scoundrel was his only connection to the outside world. He had to humour the man, if he wanted to learn anything about Gwen and Galla. "Come closer" he therefore said. "Into the light."

Jeffrey stepped closer, taking great pains to stay out of the prisoner's reach. Yet even so, his face was clearly visible now and Arthur fought the impulse to run away. Never before had he felt such irrational, instinctive revulsion for a man. When he had been eager to find his family he had hardly noticed it, but now the disgust was overwhelming.

Patiently, Jeffrey stared straight ahead, his cadaverous face blank, his eyes shimmering in the firelight. He stood absolutely still and gave Arthur all the time in the world to stare at him.

The eyes gave Arthur the first clue. But it was impossible…. after all these years … "Ravenclaw" he finally muttered, dumbfounded. Then he corrected himself. "Armand of Morgwyn. It can't be …"

"Yes, it is me" the former High Master confirmed. "The years have been gentler to you than to me. Until now, that is. Your treacherous, or perhaps just foolish, past is about to catch up with you, Prince Arthur."

"_You_ betrayed _me_" Arthur shouted, shocked by the sudden revelation.

"I fought for what was right and good in the world" Armand retorted coldly. "You let me down, you betrayed the Isle of the Blessed, you and that foolish young devil Merlin."

"If it hadn't been for you, Merlin would still be alive."

"And if it hadn't been for the Pendragons, my home would still be paradise" Morgwyn said harshly, before he turned on his heels and walked away.

"Armand, wait ..." Arthur yelled despairingly. "Jeffrey! Please!"

But the sorcerer's steps faded away, and then they were gone.

Arthur screamed and raged until he no longer could, but no one came. As the dungeon was deep underground, with no windows, it was completely still.

Silent enough for the ears to make up sounds that weren't there.

No matter how often the prisoner paced from one end of the cell to the other, probing the wall, the bars and anything else in his reach, there was no way out.

It was maddening.

Guinivere, Galahad - he had held them in his arms, felt the warmth of their trembling bodies, and now they were gone, out of reach, like ghosts, for ever kept away from him.

Again, he kicked against the bars, and screamed his heart out.

But nobody cared.

Finally, Arthur surrendered to his fate.

He could do nothing but wait.

After a while, the torch burned out, and the room fell into total blackness.

In the pitch dark, Arthur heard little claws scampering across the stone floor. The creatures cheeped excitedly, then they were still.

When Pendragon understood that the rats had begun to feast on Erec's corpse, he buried his head in his arms.

And yet, nature demands her right even under the most dire of circumstances.

When nailed boots stamped the ground and harsh voices shouted in an unfamiliar language, Arthur woke with a start from sleep.

The door opened, and he found himself in the grip of two bulky Saxons whose fur and leather clothes stank abominably of animal fat, fresh ale and old sweat.

Arthur's heart was racing, and in his ears rushed a non-existent gale, but the thought that they might take him to those in charge made him compliant.

They bound his hands and arms behind his back, but otherwise did him no harm. On the contrary, he had the impression that they were holding back deliberately. Armed to their teeth and in what to them must be full armour they looked intimidating enough and yet they seemed apprehensive rather than aggressive.

They were talking to each other in what Arthur presumed was their native gibberish while they led him out of the dungeon. Once he tried to ask them where they were taking him, but when one of the brutes threatened him with a dirty scarf, he shook his head and looked down. The mere thought of having this slimy rag stuffed into his mouth made him nauseous.

The light was blinding when they left the building and stepped into what had to be the stronghold's main yard. Pendragon stumbled when his guards forced him up a few steps that led to a wooden stand.

Arthur winced when someone grabbed his chin and forced his head back. All he could see was a blurred shadow against the glaring sky.

"Yes, it's him" a guttural voice growled, the accent so heavy that Arthur barely understood the man. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a bearded, weathered face, reddish hair, a surprisingly fair skin, a broad jaw firmly set and a pair of eyes of greyish green, like the sea in winter.

The fine linen shirt, the splendid gold jewellery and the expensive armour were those of a Saxon Prince.

Or, much rather, those of an extremely successful Saxon thief.

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded to know.

The Saxon let go of his chin. "I'm Hengist" he gnarled irritably. "And no need to tell me, I know who you are. Let's get it over with."

Resisting the Saxon's rough grips was out of the question. To Arthur, much leaner, a head shorter and with bound hands, the grip on his arms was that of a giant handling a dwarf.

Hengist pushed the captive forward and held him there. For the first time Arthur could see what was happening in the yard.

Bewildered he beheld two mighty pyres. To the stakes in their centres, two straw dolls were tied.

Only when one of them raised their head, Pendragon understood that he was looking at two condemned people.

A man and a woman.

Two mops of tangled black hair.

Arthur jerked, struggled grimly to break free from the restraining hands.

A third, big paw took him by the throat, choked him, dragged him back. He tried to fight, but he couldn't breathe. He kicked and fought, until he hung in the Saxons' grip like a half-strangled dog.

"Don't!" Hengist ordered. "She doesn't know you're here. She's blind. Don't let her know you're watching."

Arthur panicked as a Saxon warrior went towards the pyres with a torch in his hand "Please, she's done nothing wrong, she's innocent" he pressed out.

"I know that. My brother Horsa knows that. What does it matter?"

The second man behind Arthur grunted his consent.

"No good, you see?" Hengist said. "The Duke says she's a sorceress, so that our army could not win the battle. The men believe it. Want to believe it. And that's the end of her."

"Let me talk to your Duke. He does not know what he's doing. My army is only hours away."

"Your people know you're here. They won't budge." Hengist shrugged. "The Duke will see you tonight. Not before. You anger him, and your son will burn. You do as he says and the boy might live."

Arthur froze. He shuddered. "You would burn a child to make your point?"

"We make better use of our prisoners" an even deeper voice barked. "But the Duke must have his bonfires from time to time." Horsa, for it must be him, leaned towards Arthur without easing his grip on the younger man's throat, and pointed at the black figure that had just entered the balcony and raised his arms in a call for silence.

The Duke's face was hidden behind jet black metal. The voice was strange. Distorted. Hollow and inhuman.

But the speech he gave, the words he used, were only too familiar.

He spoke about the evils of magic, about what crimes he had suffered from sorcerers, and how he had been forced, again and again, to fight this greatest sin of all.

When the speech ended, the condemned man on the pyre screamed aloud. "You are the ones who'll burn in hell for this. All of you. God can have no mercy on you after today!"

Perhaps Lancelot would have said more. But he died with a Saxon arrow in his heart, much quicker than his real murderer had meant him to.

The crowd, waiting for the spectacle to begin, murmured angrily. Many eyes looked daggers at the two Saxon Princes on the stand who had ordered the shot that had robbed them of half their entertainment.

"Mercenaries" Horsa hissed at his brother in their own tongue. "Blasted riff-raff. If they were as bloodthirsty in a fight as they are at the scaffold….."

Arthur didn't even hear them talking. The speech had shocked him into a limbo.

When the Black Duke turned towards them, Hengist bowed slightly in what might have been an apology for the untimely intervention of his archer. Whilst rising, the Saxon spat out scornfully. "When we came, the man Lancelot was our ally. Now he was to burn. A man should die from sword or arrow, not from fire, like a trapped rat!"

The Duke could not have heard the spiteful words and yet he apparently had an idea of the Saxons' state of mind, for he stared down at the group, as if about to give an order and have them restrained. Arthur felt the black clad figure's enraged eyes on his body as if the gaze was something physical that touched his skin. Defiled him. Leaving the stench of sulphur behind.

Finally, the Duke looked away, and raised his hand.

The executioner walked to the woman's pyre and raised his torch.

The crowd's murmuring reached a high pitch.

The woman yelled in fear and struggled against her bonds.

Arthur pushed forward with all his strength and shouted her name. Through all the noise, she did not hear him. "Leave her be, you bastards. Oh Gods, Guinivere…" He couldn't lose her, not like this….

Between them, the two Saxons subdued him. "Gag him" Hengist said. "I'm fed up. Enough is enough."

Guinivere cried out when the flames reached her body, and Arthur renewed his senseless struggling, until Hengist kicked against the back of his knees and forced him down.

Horsa turned away and again, he spat out. "That's no way to die" he repeated growlingly. "She was lovely. Damn shame."

With his face pressed down on his legs, unable to scream, Arthur could not see Guinivere burn to death. But he heard her. And he heard the people who watched her die. Up to the very last second, he heard everything.

"She can't see you" Hengist repeated, as if that was a mercy in itself. "They gouged her eyes out."

Arthur choked on his gag, the bile hurt his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. He strained his back to get up, but there was no battling the strong fists in his neck and hair.

Finally, the screaming stopped.

No sound was left but the flames' roaring and the murmuring of a crowd in the anti-climax of a great event.

As the two corpses burned to cinder, the audience dissolved. People were now chatting excitedly. This had certainly made their day.

"Take him away" Hengist said and let go of Arthur's head. "See to it that he's fit tonight."

Without any further ado, the same two soldiers brought a limp, unmoving Arthur back to his cell, roughly untied him and locked him up before they went about their search for safer enjoyments.

This Camelot princeling, that much was certain, was not for them to toy with.

Arthur didn't even notice that in the meantime, Erec's body had been removed.

At first, he lay still, unable to move. In the end, he crawled to the wall, and hugged his knees.

Nothing he had lived through before, no battle, not even Osric's ritual, had been like what he was feeling now. The pictures of the execution tortured him, the imagined ones more than the ones he'd really seen. But most of all, the sounds tormented him.

It had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. No time to brace himself for what he was going to see, no time to understand what was happening. The brutal attack had caught him by complete surprise, and all his usual defences, his self-control, his courage, were swept away.

Covered in sweat, his muscles twitching uncontrollably, he stammered in the frenzy of the flashbacks, cried and howled he knew not what.

The guards on duty didn't mind, they were used to prisoners screaming their hearts out. Sooner or later, they all shut up, this bonny blond would be no exception to the rule.

In vain, Arthur fought like a madman when they came for him at the appointed time. The jailers cursed and swore when they were bruised and battered, but in the end, he stood no real chance against the whole lot of them.

"Untie him and then leave us" the Black Duke said when they'd brought him his prisoner.

"No good Sire" the sergeant retorted. "He's lost it, he's dangerous."

"Not to me. Get out."

Reluctantly the soldiers cleared out, muttering angrily to themselves.

Arthur didn't doubt that they would stay close, but even so he weighed his chances. He wouldn't save himself, but at least he would not die alone.

The man in black turned to the sideboard, as easily and comfortably as any host would do in the presence of a favoured guest. "You look as if you could do with a glass of brandy, Arthur."

Disbelievingly the prisoner stared at the straight back turned on him, clad in black cloth and leather armour. Without helmet and breast plate, head and neck were exposed.

Through a door on the left shone the light from a friendly fire. In front of Arthur, the table was laid for three. The sharp, strong knifes shimmered beneath the candelabras.

"You still like grapes as you used to, I hope?" the Duke asked without turning.

And as if the few, simple words were a spell, the prisoner's head cleared, and the fever was gone. This stupid game of power Arthur knew well; every step, every turn was familiar. As familiar as the memory of a flower once collected in a cave, almost at the cost of his own life, only to see it crushed in a wanton, careless hand.

It was all there, like it had been years ago, the feigned indifference, the forced casualness, the artificial good humour.

"You always were too sure of yourself" Arthur said coldly. His hatred and disdain laced the words with acid. "And always the show, the grand gesture. Beats me how I could ever fall for it, admire it even. A second-rate jester in a fleapit playing King."

The Duke sighed and let his shoulders sink. Cumbersomely he fumbled with the glasses and the decanter.

Arthur did not remember the man's diversions to be _that_ obvious in the past. This was not about brandy at all; the bastard just dreaded speaking to his victim face to face.

"No need for insults, my boy" the Duke replied calmly. "The witch is dead, and the cursed sword is gone. Let bygones be bygones. I will forgive and forget. It wasn't your fault."

Again, Arthur's gaze brushed over the gleaming blades on the table. His hands and feet were free. It would be so easy, one step, one strike … What madness drove this man? To take a risk like that …

"Papa!"

Arthur was almost swept off his feet when Galahad jumped at his back and hugged him fiercely. "Pooh, you smell badly, Papa." the youngster said with a wrinkled nose. Like a clumsy half-grown bear in need of affection, he punched his father's rips before he lumbered to the man by the sideboard. Usually the spindly boy's exaggerated masculine behaviour made his father smile, Galahad knew that very well.

Arthur felt all strength drain from his body when Galahad hugged the black waist before he gave his father a huge, radiant smile. "Isn't it great that grandfather has come?" he asked. "Without him, mother and I would still be sitting in that awful room, locked up by this filthy jerk Erec."

"Hey, let go, or you make me spill our drinks" the Duke said fondly to the boy as he finally turned round to face Arthur. As if only Galahad's arrival had given him the courage to do so.

The youngster frowned as he looked from one man to the other. Something was definitely wrong. Why wasn't his father overjoyed?

Oddly enough, Arthur had never told his son anything about his past. Galahad had asked many times before he had given up on the subject, sensing Arthur's awkwardness. There was something that Galahad didn't quite understand. But then, there had always been an aura of secret and mystery around his parents. Part of being King and Queen, the boy had supposed, and, after a while, forgotten all about his grandfather.

But now that grandfather was back and had freed his grandson and daughter-in-law from this idiot Erec, shouldn't Arthur feel _some_ joy?

Perhaps he had not known that Mama had had to go away on a moment's notice? But she had done that before, hadn't she? Some of these days, there would be another letter from her, telling Galahad that he was to visit her in her new place. His parents parted, and reunited, at random.

It had always been like that. And grandfather said so, too.

And yet, Arthur stood there, looking daggers. Bewildered, Galahad looked at his father's face. Papa didn't look quite well, he noticed. The clothes were torn, the skin on his wrists and throat was discoloured. He was tired. And upset.

Perhaps this was one of those situations. The ones after which somebody would tell Prince Galahad that he was incredibly smart for his age on the one hand, but incredibly naïve and stupid for a 12 year old – no, make that almost 14 after all this time of a stupid war - on the other. "_Well_" this somebody would go on "_it is to be expected, Prince Galahad. Many books in a convent, but not much real life experience._" Galahad would then be patted on the head - a thing he loathed except from his father – and that was that.

"Your son is a trifle too spontaneous and open-hearted for a Prince of Camelot, don't you think?" the Duke now said.

"_There_" Galahad thought disappointedly "_I knew it_!" He looked at his father with hopeful eyes. Perhaps Arthur would now say what he usually said when someone criticized his son. That Galahad was a fine boy and that the High King would not want him to change, not one bit.

But Arthur said nothing. With his eyes glued to the other man's face, he took the brandy offered to him. He held the glass in is hand, as if he did not know what to do with it.

"Come on, my boy, down with it" the Duke said good-naturedly.

Arthur closed his eyes when he gulped the strong liquor down. It burned its way down to his guts. Burned like fire. He put the glass on the table before it fell from his fingers.

He winced when the Duke came for him with two fast strides. The arms in black silk closed around his body and pressed him affectionately. "Come on, Arthur, say that you are glad to see me. Your nightmare is over. It's all in the past, my son."

Arthur coughed, and swallowed painfully. Some invisible weight pressed down on his chest. He felt like suffocating. "Yes" he said, his voice raw with barely controlled emotion. He did not know from whence the words came. His mind was blank, in his ears echoed the agonized screams of a dying woman. "Of course I'm glad to see you. Good evening, father."


	30. Shreds and shambles

**30. Shreds and shambles**

"More bread, Arthur?"

"Yes, thank you."

Arthur took the bread and winced when his hand touched the fingers holding it.

Uther didn't even notice. Reassured and calmed by his firm belief that his son had been under the evil sorceress' spell so far, he was convinced that he had nothing to fear from Arthur. In fact Arthur's father was absolutely sure about his son feeling nothing but gratitude towards the man who'd freed him from the witch's clutches.

So Uther continued stuffing his face, chatting animatedly across his dinner table, mostly at the twelve year old boy who adored his grandfather's every word, deeply flattered by the invitation to join them.

Arthur was mostly silent.

Through the open widows came the sounds of servants clearing away the remnants of the afternoon's execution.

At some time, Galahad dove into his red berry compote with much gusto under Uther's benign smile.

In that same minute, Arthur recognized the typical sweeping sounds of strong brooms. "Would you excuse me for a moment, please" he murmured. He reached the bathing chamber only just in time before the knowledge that Galahad was having dessert while the servants swept up his mother's ashes emptied his stomach completely.

On his return, Galahad was nowhere to be seen.

"I sent him off to bed" Uther volunteered. "He couldn't keep his eyes open." His broad smile wavered after one look at his son's white face and if Arthur hadn't been preoccupied, he could have seen that his father's joyful surety suddenly faltered.

But he had no eyes for Uther's awkwardness. "I would want to see him" he said, already retreating towards the door. "Where ….?"

"Not now, if you please Arthur!" Uther used a sharp tone, leaving no doubt that that had been an order. When his son stopped obediently, he moderated his tone at once. "Honestly Arthur, I'm grateful for the opportunity to talk to you in private …. _if_ you're not too tired, that is."

Arthur stared at him with a blank face. Too tired? Had the man just asked him if he was too _tired_? "No" he finally shook his head, "but Galla shouldn't be left alone, sometimes he ….."

"He's a fine boy" Uther interrupted hastily. "But he's not well, is he?"

"No" Arthur agreed, apprehension making him cautious. "His hearing, and his eye-sight, are weak. Since birth."

Uther nodded, his smug self-satisfaction visible even beneath the thick layer of not altogether feigned worry and sympathy. "So his own mother did not stick at harming her child in order to harm you."

"Guinivere did nothing of the kind" Arthur retorted sharply, before he pressed his lips together. He couldn't afford scandalizing his father. Whatever it was that stood between Galahad and a third pyre – it was only as reliable as Uther Pendragon's selfish whims.

Fortunately, Uther blamed the sharp repartee on his son's exhaustion. "I know this must come to you as a shock, my boy" he went on, speaking quickly, in a hurry to put it behind him, "but not only has she left you without a fit heir, but she also betrayed you. It grieves me to tell you, that this filthy sorceress was also an adulteress. I have it from his own mouth; this scoundrel Lancelot had reason to believe that the boy is his son." Uther looked away and coughed lightly. "Although it is obvious that Galahad is a Pendragon" he added lamely.

"_Tell me something I don't know_" Arthur thought, with a fleeting amusement. Uther felt very superior with his great revelations, which in truth were all snow from yesteryear. But there was little to be gained from telling him so, therefore Arthur pretended to be shocked. "Lancelot said Galahad is _his_ son?" he asked with an aghast voice and a suitably distorted face.

"The nerve, eh?" Uther agreed eagerly, only too happy that this conversation was running so smoothly. "I must admit, at first I believed it, too, but the moment I set eyes on your Galla I saw that he's the spitting image of my father. The black devil they called him. You son's even got the Pendragon birth mark on his back, the fighting dragon."

Arthur stood motionless. Paralyzed.

Not for a second he doubted the truth of Uther's words. The man was an accomplished liar, but he wouldn't make this up, not when it came to his own, precious blood-line.

Something ran through Arthur's veins, if it was ice or fire he couldn't make out. His nausea returned and he closed his eyes. "_Oh Gods, Lance. For nothing! Our quarrel, Guinivere's abduction, the alliance that killed you, the slaughterhouse at Badon Hill – for NOTHING!"_

An irresistible urge to laugh out loudly tickled the inside of his throat, irritating, seductive. "_All these deaths, Lance: Severinus, Erec, you, the woman we both loved, all the men on the battlefield – your marriage in shambles, as much as mine, Malcolm's love dead and buried, Leon's family too – their lives, our lives - murdered, butchered, for a lie, a mere figment of our imagination_…"

In the next moment, the pain hit him like a physical blow "_Forgive me, Guinivere, I'm so sorry, forgive me, oh please forgive me …. what did it matter, this one night of confusion, how could I allow it to destroy everything __…..how could I ever allow for this madness to happen, because of such a trifle..."_

Again, the hysterics threatened to overwhelm him.

It was such an outrageous idea, the mere concept was so utterly preposterous, so hilariously, inconceivably ridiculous, that he simply couldn't get his mind around it.

Streams of blood, crushed hopes, dreams destroyed, more than just one life's work gone to pieces – and somewhere in this hell-hole of a castle, the twelve year old youngster, sleeping peacefully, perhaps dreaming of a mother who would never return, of a homecoming to a Camelot that was about to be ripped apart, until no stone was left on another, by a man who must have groomed and cherished his dream of revenge for the better part of two decades….

Arthur winced when his shoulders were roughly grabbed and he was forced down on a chair. It took a moment of focussing to notice Uther was talking frantically to him. More effort was needed to understand that his father had seen him swaying on his feet, on the brink of collapse. "I'm so sorry, my son, but after all these years of deception it is imperative that you finally accept the truth" Uther rambled on. "You have been betrayed. Used. Misled, if you want to put it that way. Otherwise you'd never turned against me, I know that now."

And in an instant, Arthur's resolve to restrain himself at all cost, for Galla's sake, was gone. Oh yes, he still knew the game, but he was no longer able to play it. The words and moves eluded him. "I wish I knew what you're talking about" he venomously spat.

In fact, he knew it well enough. Before his very eyes, his father conjured up a huge ego-maniacal make-belief, a horrible self-delusion, with Uther Pendragon in the role of the all-time hero and everybody else in the part of the fiendish magical villain. All Hail to Uther Pendragon, once more forming the world in the image of his own greatness and perfection, with no thought for those who paid the price; no idea of the damage he did, of the suffering he caused, not in the past, not now, not ever.

Arthur's wrath was wasted on a man oblivious to reality. Uther sighed, visibly vexed, but controlling himself as a patient father of an insolent child is supposed to control himself. "You best catch up on some sleep" he said. "We have all the time in the world to talk. Tomorrow, and the day after. Naturally I will have to retake Camelot before I can get you to join me, but it shouldn't be too long."

Arthur rose and stepped away, out of Uther's reach. "If you think Leon and the Branguards will open the gates for you and your bunch of mercenaries, with palm twigs in one hand and a white flag in the other, think again."

"Perhaps not for me, not at first, that is. But for your son, that's quite another cup of wine. Especially in your absence."

Again, Arthur forgot both weariness and tactics, and flared up. "You won't take Galahad, and that's final. You may have used me all my life, you can use me again, there's not much I can do about it, but you'll leave the boy alone!"

"As you said, there's not much you can do to stop me."

"Now we're seeing eye to eye" Arthur sneered. "I didn't believe in your pretty speeches anyway."

"How dare you….."

"You've made a gross miscalculation, _father_. You can parade me or Galla in front of the citadel as long as you like, the Branguards have the law of the land on their side. Malcolm's eldest is heir to the Crown, Galahad isn't fit to be Crown Prince, and I am your prisoner. Force me into signing any paper that takes your fancy, torture me as much as you like, my word counts for nothing!"

"Last thing I heard you are the High King of Albion."

"Yes, dear father. _Me_. And after me comes Malcolm's son. Or no one. Albion will go to pieces before the other Kingdoms surrender to you and your army of cut throats!"

Uther drew himself up; his son could virtually see him gulp down the rage bubbling up inside him. "Let's not argue, Arthur. It's a bad moment. I know you loved her. Believe it or not, I understand your feelings. When Morgana and you turned against me, I…." he broke off with a shuddering breath. "We'll talk again in the morning, when you're rested. Good night."

"Talk to me or don't, it'll change nothing."

"I said, good _night_, Arthur."

"Where is my son?" Arthur flinched at the sound of his own words. More than 12 years, and for the first time ever 'my son' sounded good and right. It was idiotic, especially in this moment, when everything he'd ever had and been hung in the balance - It was self-centred and absurd that it should matter so much, a child was a child – but it _did _matter, it mattered the world to him. A piece of Guinivere left alive, of the love they'd had, and it was _his. _Lancelot had no part in it.

Uther sat down heavily in a chair, slumped, a picture of misery, for all to see but for his son. Arthur had no eyes for Uther Pendragon's sufferings. "The guard will lead you to him" Uther said with an effort. "For the boy's sake, Arthur – I didn't tell him anything about his mother. You're his father, you decide what's best for him."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely a word of advice. From one father to another. Although Galla is less complicated than you."

"You are pathetic" Arthur snorted. "How I could ever admire you, even worship you, it's beyond me."

"No use discussing ancient history then" Uther retorted, soberly now. "But even so, two grown up men with common interests should come to some mutual understanding. I'll see you in the morning."

In answer to Uther's earlier call, two bulky guards entered the room, an unmistakable sign that the conversation was over. Arthur nodded curtly at his father, and followed them out.

The soldiers had no trouble with their prisoner at all. Arthur walked between them, lost in thought, until they reached a room in the west wing.

Galla hadn't been to bed yet. It had been an interesting evening, confusing as well as fascinating, and he yearned to talk to his father. As soon as he spotted Arthur in the door-frame, he jumped up and ran to him.

The guards never knew what hit them. The first went down with a knife in his heart, while the other lost his footing when Arthur kicked against his knees from behind. Even as the man fell, the second knife cut his throat open almost down to the neck.

Galahad stood in total shock, his eyes wide, with trembling limbs, whilst the men's blood pooled before his feet. Biting Lancelot in the heat of the moment, swearing to have his head cut off, was one thing. But he had never seen someone _dying_. Nothing in his sheltered life, as the monks' pet novice, had ever prepared him for a sight like this. For the smell. Or his father's face the second he went in for the kill. It was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen.

Arthur shoved the remaining of the two knifes he'd stolen at the dinner table into his belt, took one of the soldiers' swords, and grabbed his son's wrist. "Let's go."

But Galahad didn't budge. White as a sheet he stared at the bloodied fingers that enclosed his hand before he raised his gaze to his father's face.

"Galla, for God's sake, MOVE!"

The boy shook his head, slowly at first, then more and more frantic. He tried to get away, pulled at the hand that held him.

Arthur reached out and slapped the boy's face with all his strength. Both he and Galla yelped with pain and surprise, the boy holding his burning face while Arthur cradled his right wrist.

"Papa…." Galahad whined.

"Move your ass, my boy, or I'll give you the thrashing of your life" Arthur hissed, and took Galla's arm once more.

Sobbing quietly, Gallahad put one foot before the other and Arthur felt faint with relief. "I'll explain everything later, Galla, just trust me. We must get out of here."

"But…. but why …."

"LATER, Galla."

"Where's grandfather?"

"Outside, waiting for us" Arthur lied. "We have been betrayed. We are no longer safe inside the stronghold. Here, take this." Arthur gave Galla the knife. "Our objective is to get out of here unseen, all right? No heroics."

Galahad nodded. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice nagged on and on about this being not a game, these two men were _dead_, and murder was a mortal sin. There was a second voice saying that this was _it_. Lame, stupid Prince Galahad with his father, the best warrior of Albion, fighting for what was good and right. Whatever that was. Hell, his father was the High King, he could do as he saw fit.

For the first time in his life, Galla felt like a royal Prince of Camelot. At the same time, he felt sick and abused. Was that what Princes did? Was that how they had to feel?

He would do his father proud. But not himself.

It was just as well Galla didn't know his father wished his son were 1 000 miles away from this place.

Arthur strained his ears for the sound of marching boots, and he wasn't disappointed. As soon as they left the west wing, they barely avoided a patrol in the main corridor.

Hidden behind a row of columns and a curtain, a place hardly suitable to make them invisible for long, Arthur cursed his idiocy. As he had been unconscious when they had brought him in, he didn't even know where the gates were.

"This way" Galla whispered. "To the main gates."

"How would you know?" Belatedly Arthur remembered that Galla's ears weren't as sharp as his.

He shouldn't have worried.

"I'm short sighted, father, not blind!" the boy said, badly insulted. "I can lip-read, you know, when I'm close enough. To spot something as huge as the castle gates from horseback is no problem."

Against his will, Arthur grinned. His son, all right. There was a little warrior beneath that monk's coat after all. "Any idea how we get there?" he asked, and the boy bristled with pride. "They all thought I'm a wimp, so I could roam the castle at will, fetching and carrying" he muttered enthusiastically. "There's a narrow passage behind the wall. From the kitchen, there's a door to the pigsty, and from there, to the outer walls."

"Idyllic" the High King said. To Arthur's superior taste, the close neighbourhood of kitchen and pigsty was tantamount to abomination. Almost unimaginable that Lance had found the absence of his servants from the main corridor more fashionable than the absence of blowflies from his cooking place! "Let's go and find your pigs."

Finding and using the indeed narrow pathway posed no difficulty, but when they came to the kitchen's entrance, Arthur heard voices. A woman, apparently of mature age and countenance, used all the considerable power of her voice and lungs to insult some others. "Wrenches" Arthur and Galla heard her yell. "Dimwits. Daughters of whores and lepers, the lot of you."

And that was only the beginning of the unchaste tirade. The High King barely resisted temptation to press his hands on Galla's ears.

"That's Marina" Galahad giggled into his father's red hot ears. "She's an old lazy bone. Wants the maids to do the cleaning without her."

"Cleaning?" asked Arthur, whose heart sank. How long would that take? And killing some hapless women in front of Galla….

"It's late, right?" his boy answered. Unaware of his father's thoughts, he pulled himself together as gallantly as possible, as if this whole thing was nothing but an everyday training lesson for the noble Prince of Camelot. "For breakfast tomorrow, the slabs and plates must be clean, and the ovens. Just you wait, any moment now the she-devil will be off to her warm bed, and the maids will do likewise. Tomorrow they'll panic, and the scullery girl will have her ears boxed for no fault of hers. It's unfair, but that's how it is." Galla nodded to himself, his expression being one of serenity and age-old wisdom, and Arthur bit his lip until it hurt.

A wimp, perhaps, when it came to sword fighting, and perhaps as blind as a mole or as deaf as a snake, too, but Gosh, the boy had brains and courage enough for a battalion of squires and knights.

Gwen would have been proud.

Galla looked at his father in surprise when Arthur inhaled sharply. As if he had hurt himself.

Grown-ups were funny people sometimes. Imagine, the High King of Albion feeling pity for an unjustly treated scullery girl!

Shortly after that, the kitchen fell silent.

Arthur waited for a moment before he opened the door, cautiously, inch by inch.

The huge room was a smelly mess, as Galla had predicted, - and it was deserted.

"They all sleep on the other side of the corridor" Galahad said. "They won't hear us if we're quiet."

"How many guards are at the door?" Arthur wanted to know.

"Guards? At a kitchen door to the pigsty?"

"Don't be childish, Galla. If there's a connection from here to the outer wall, there must be guards somewhere."

"In Camelot, perhaps. Not here. Bad for their boots, you know."

"Lancelot du Lac once was a knight of the Round Table" Arthur hissed indignantly.

"Who was much more interested in pestering Mama than running his estate" Galla shrugged. "This way."

Arthur couldn't believe it; they sneaked through the pigs' mud – not comfortable, but deserted, too – past the stables (nobody there but a sleeping groom or two) up to the inner wall, and its exit to the herb and vegetable garden. From where he stood, Arthur recognized the orchard where he'd met Guinivere.

The memory virtually jumped on him, her voice so clear, her image so real as if she was standing in front of him, smiling, whispering his name.

"You remember the little door in the outer wall?" Galla said, impatiently hopping from one foot to the other.

"Yes" Arthur said with an effort, "of course."

"You must find it, I hardly ever find it quickly behind all the brushwood. It's heavily barred, but it is locked from the inside, by three bolts. No keys, you see?"

"You're sure?" Arthur said, or rather, wanted to say, when the stronghold's alarm bell rang, loud and shrill through the otherwise quiet night, making it utterly clear that their time had ran out. The King grabbed Galla's arm and they ran through the dark, close to the wall, in a frenzied search for this damn, almost invisible little door.

From the palace, then from the yard, came the sound of screaming voices, harsh commands, eventually of neighing horses. Torches flickered through the dark. The search parties fanned out.

Galla stumbled, regained his footing, and stumbled again. He fell, yelping with pain. "My foot…"

Arthur supressed the curse that was already on his lips. He pulled his son to his feet, turned him, and pushed him face first into the nearest row of bushes. "Whatever happens, Galla, you stay put. I'll come back later for you."

"Papa, wait…"

"I promise I'll be back."

"No, wait."

"Galla…"

"Papa, I've found the door." Really, sometimes adults were too stupid for their own good.

"With _your_ eyes?"

"No, Papa. With my forehead!"

Arthur was swallowed up by the dense brushwood in an instant. The bolts looked ancient and rusty, but they were in fact well oiled. Arthur took the time to shut the door behind him, and to ram a piece of wood underneath it. Should someone try it from the inside without too close a look at it, he might think it still locked.

"Quick, Galla. Into the woods. We must lie low until they're past us."

"But how will grandfather find us?"

"He will, don't worry."

Galla submitted to his father's orders, at least for now. Papa's story had more than one hole; as always logic and warriors made strange bedfellows. But Galahad knew how to bide his time, once they were safe they had all the time in the world to work things out. For example, why his father and grandfather were perfectly fine and at ease with _him_, but not with each other. Quite the contrary, in fact. As if grandfather was desperate because Papa hated him.

So the boy was quite content to walk in his father's wake while Arthur was searching for a suitable hiding place. After some minutes, during which Arthur got more and more tensed, thinking of the soldiers roaming the whole area in search for them, they reached a peaceful, little clearing with mostly rocky ground, with something that might be the entrance of a cave on its left side.

Arthur weighed their chances. It _looked_ perfect, but on the other hand: Wouldn't these henchmen know the terrain close to their castle like the backs of their hands, at least some of them?

Something rustled behind his back, moved through the bushes, and a small rabbit shot out of his hiding, across the clearing, and back into the safety of the forest.

Not even Galahad could be blind and deaf enough to miss the scene's significance.

He was off with a small yelp. "Grandfather…."

"Galla, don't! Come back!" Arthur ran after his son, despairing of the boy, thinking that sparing Galahad even the basics of military training had been an all-time blunder.

He stopped at the sight of his son lying on the ground, apparently unconscious.

"Drop it" a familiar voice said from behind. Wheezily. The voice of a very old man.

"Drop the sword, Pendragon!" Armand of Morgwyn said again.

Arthur loosened his hold on the sword hilt, let it slide, grabbed it again, and darted round. He missed Armand's neck by an inch, pushed forward, forced the other to retreat clumsily, towards the place where Galla lay. "Arthur, watch it" Armand shouted, as a second man came for him from the dark, blade raised high, ready for an attack against the High King's unprotected head.

Arthur evaded the onslaught, his feet dancing on the ground. He raised his own sword to fend off the other's blade, while Armand got into safety.

The two swords connected, and the attacker pressed down. Arthur could hardly believe his luck, this man was a bloody greenhorn, strong, determined, but with hardly any knowledge of the sword art. The High King twisted his blade the tiniest bit in order to catch the other's hilt and disarm him. Instead of doing the only sensible thing, stepping back, getting his sword free for another attack, the brute pressed harder, and Arthur had all the leeway he needed to finish this idiot off. He let his sword slide down further, just a millimetre, into the perfect position.

The sound of both his wrists snapping at once was audible to both of them. Arthur cried out with the sudden pain, and the sword fell from his limp fingers. The other had no difficulties pushing him against the nearest tree, and putting his blade to Arthur's neck.

The man's expression of triumph turned into one of horror when Armand cut his throat from behind. "Do you see reason now?" Morgwyn asked a stunned Arthur. "The forest is crawling with Uther's men. They catch you and your son, how many chances to run will you get, eh? But of course, you could fight them, a whole army single-handedly, if only you had this!"

Arthur gritted his teeth when he saw what Armand held in his hand. Even though the blade was wrapped up in some veils and scarfs, Excalibur's hilt was gleaming in the starlight.

"I must inform Your Majesty that you, as a fighter, aren't worth a farthing without your famous sword" Armand said. Seeing Arthur's helpless rage, he grinned. "Unfortunately I have found out, to my greatest chagrin, that Excalibur isn't worth a farthing without you, My Lord."

Arthur heard that more soldiers from the stronghold approached the clearing. Dogs barked, a lot of dogs.

"Seems as if we're born allies, you and I" Armand said jokingly. "Me or your father, Arthur – what shall it be?"


End file.
